


Shattered Oaths

by justalongthemirroroferised



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All Magic Comes With a Price, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Healer Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger-centric, Non-Canon Relationship, Slow Burn, dramione - Freeform, dramione is my trash, not on hiatus, trash son draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-10-20 00:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalongthemirroroferised/pseuds/justalongthemirroroferised
Summary: There have always been whispers of old magic in the woods.  Some say that you could make a promise to an ancient creature for whatever your heart desires.  What the stories never told her is that all magic comes with a price.Hermione could never have known that the oath she broke as a child would threaten to destroy everything that she worked for and everyone that she loves.It all started with the being who spoke to her with words forged from liquid silver.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well here I go again, posting new fics when I haven't finished the ones that are currently in progress (I know, I know, I'll get around to it). I've been percolating on this idea for a while now, and inspiration can be so fleeting. I couldn't resist. This is my first serious crack at writing Dramione, please let me know what you think!

 

_There have always been whispers._

_Whispers that promised impossible things._

_Tales of simple tailors suddenly sewing the robes of kings, of plain maidens catching the eye of a handsome prince, wondrous things that were simply too far out of reach for any commoner.  Whispers that made children wish for a miracle, for magic._

_Whispers that tempted nuns to reach for their rosaries, for priests to murmur warnings against the Devil's work.  Magic is a crime against the natural order of things, they'd say, it was simply too dangerous to give in to something so wild and sinful._

_But children have no patience for such warnings.  Magic was simply a thing that was, and would always be, the stuff of daydreams and silent wishes._

_Alas, it is human nature to be curious, and in the case of one ambitious girl, it was nearly her undoing._

_She could never have known that the choice that she made that day would throw her headlong into the arms of fate.  She could never have known that she tempted the wrath of a creature far too alien for her to understand.  Too old to decipher._

_She could never have known that she was about to make a bargain that would change everything._


	2. The Promise

The frigid winter air puffed out from her rosy lips in a cloud as the girl-child scampered into the forest.  Her wild hair flew behind her in a reckless tangle, forever escaping her mother's carefully tied plaits.  Her cloak flapped around her ankles, and she impatiently palmed handfuls of the rough fabric, hiking the hem halfway up her calves.  Her thin boots offered little protection from the frozen ground, but she was too giddy to care.  

She spun around in a pirouette, laughing breathlessly as snowflakes drifted down from the trees above, dusting her eyelashes and cheeks with what looked like a covering of powdered sugar.  Darting into the trees, she wasted no time before beginning her quest. 

She was too filled with unrestrained joy and excitement at disobeying her mother's rules to care that she was traipsing into the clutches of something that she could never hope to escape.  She was counting on a happy ending without listening to the moral of the story.  

Hermione was looking for something that wasn't quite natural.   She wanted to see a fae up close, she didn't care that she was on the cusp of womanhood, far too old to believe in magic.  

The bedtime stories told to children to frighten them into behaving only stoked Hermione's curiosity; she was often described as far too intelligent for her age. She was precocious, a master at picking loopholes in her parent's attempts to rein her in.  She loved to learn, to discover.  At eleven years old, she had already formed many strong opinions about the world around her.  

The little village of Ashridge Wood was far too boring, naturally.  She wanted to see everything, know everything.  

Her father had taught her to read and write (despite her grandmother's wishes), and she knew that he sometimes regretted it when she could argue almost as well as he could.  

 She absentmindedly ran her hands though the branches of a barren fool's parsley bush, silently reciting its uses.  _Fever reducer, antiseptic, also a powerful tool against tooth decay._  

Her father was a doctor, so it was only natural that she had picked up some useful knowledge about plants and remedies.  She'd made a point to memorize all of the plants that grew around their home, just for fun.  Her mother didn't know them as well as she did, so it was a surefire way to weasel her way into what her father was doing in his surgery.  It fascinated her, the way that the body worked. 

She wanted to be just like her father, but as she was only a girl in a remote village, that could get her in serious trouble.  It wasn't uncommon for a woman to be dragged to a feudal lord's castle and accused of witchcraft, even for knowing nothing but the most rudimentary facts of medicine.  

But Hermione was a child, and the concerns of her parents only added fuel to her fire; her mother often said that her curiosity was a curse.

_"A literate girl is one step away from being a witch!  Hermione, no one can know how smart you are, you'll be in danger."_

Little did she know, her mother was right.  It was only a matter of time before she began to attract attention.  

As much as she loved medicine, she loved fairy tales even more.  She had always insisted that magical creatures were real.  She'd been chided and gently reminded that there was no such thing as magic.  The stories were written to teach children to behave, not an invitation to go gallivanting into the woods.  

But something about them nagged at her. Surely there was some truth to them if they were so common as to be written down?

Hermione wanted desperately to believe in magic.  

She needed to know for herself.  

It was with the prideful arrogance of an eleven-year old that she'd come to the stubborn conclusion that she couldn't put aside any belief in the local legends unless she found proof that they weren't true.

_"Curiosity without caution leads to recklessness, Hermione," her father had said sternly when she'd begged for permission to enter the forest, his steely expression softening immediately as she stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. "They are just stories, the woods are dangerous at the best of times."_

_"But Father, I can't stop being reckless if I'm not allowed to learn!"  She'd retorted, sounding decades older than her mere eleven years.  "I'll believe that there are no magical creatures when I'm not able to find them! I need proof, and you've never seen them either so you can't tell me that I'm wrong. It's a paradox."_

_She'd stuck out her chin and crossed her arms with the confidence and authority of an empress, much to her father's amusement._

_"Very well.  Don't go too far, and be back before dark."_

_"Thank you, Father!"_

She traipsed happily among the cherry and oak trees of the forest, suddenly laughing with delight and surprise as a pile of snow suddenly overcame the strength of the branch holding it and dumped the white powder all over her head.  Shivering, she dusted herself off and continued, her tawny eyes raking over the ground for any of the signs that she was looking for.  

_Grandmother said that there would be a series of markers, then I could find the fairy circle._

She turned her hood up as an icy wind blew through the trees, sending a shiver down her spine.  Determinedly, she continued into the thicket, stopping only to inspect a small carving in the trunk of a nearby tree.  

At first glance, it could have been a hunter's mark, but she was delighted to see that it was nothing of the sort.  A strange rune had been carved into the bark, so worn and weathered that she thought that it must have been there for some time.  It was a crude representation of a compass, a symbol that she knew well from her father's maps.  

To her keen eye, it looked like a star.  Exactly like the one in the illuminated pages of her storybook.  

"Into the darkest part of the forest, there you will see the marker,"  she whispered, quoting her favorite story from memory.  She stared up at the rapidly darkening sky, ever mindful of her father's conditions.  She'd already found the first sign.  A surge of triumph wove through her veins, and she grinned, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

_It's so easy, it's like someone wanted me to find them._

Her fingers ran over the small arrows, pointing ever deeper into the woods.  She felt a flash of exhilaration; she was on the right track.  "Follow the arrows, as it leads you to the path that grows ever darker," she continued, hopping across a small brook.  

Hermione nearly fell into the icy water as she came close to losing her footing on the slick stones.  She let out a panicked squeak as her arms windmilled for a moment, finally finding her balance and darting to the bank on the other side.  

_Careful._

She glanced at the path behind her, making her decision to continue on.  A new feeling began to creep up on her, it was almost like being watched.  She knew that there were all sorts of animals in the forest, but she didn't feel afraid.  Pursing her lips, she started to walk, picking up a nearby stick with a wicked point.  

Immediately, she felt better.  The invasive feeling wasn't dangerous exactly, it didn't feel menacing, but the makeshift weapon made her feel better nonetheless.  Her boots crunched in the snow, and she hopped a little more firmly, enjoying the crackling of her footsteps.  

Humming, she stopped abruptly when she spotted what looked like a necklace hanging from a tree.  She knew immediately what it was; a pagan charm to ward off evil, something that her village hung on trees all over.  This one, however, was made from carved bone.  The second sign.  

A shudder of anticipation stuttered through her veins as she darted forwards.  "Two of the signs are here, now where is the circle?" 

She continued forwards, the cold seeping through the soles of her boots.  She didn't pay her discomfort any mind.  

The forest was so thick now that the light of the sun was very nearly snuffed out.  She glanced upwards nervously as the wind made the trees sway, their ancient boughs creaking as they moved.  She'd never been this far into the forest before.  It just wasn't done, no one went this far unless they were a hunter, and even then they were wary of its hidden dangers.  

She should have turned around.  But she didn't.  

Gathering her cloak around herself against the chill, she caught a flash of movement in her peripherals, spinning to look.  

She was expecting a wolf, a bear, a deer, anything other than the tiny orbs of light that hung in the air.  Transfixed, she took a step closer, ignoring her brain's attempts to assign reason to the lights.  Suddenly, the twinkling lights took off, weaving glowing ribbons through the air, spinning and zooming around the trees.  

There it was, the proof.  

Hermione didn't think, she just followed them.  Her lungs began to burn and her legs to cramp as she sprinted after the lights, running recklessly into the darkest part of the forest.  She skidded to a stop in a clearing, where a trickle of the sun's light still shone.  The lights had disappeared, and she turned round and round again, searching for her guides.  

There was something different about this swath of forest.  The trees seemed older, more alive somehow.  Frozen moss clung to icy trunks and vines, making everything look like it had been dipped in tiny metal shards.  It was like the trees were glowing, inviting her to walk farther away from the safety of the human world.  Her mind spun, trying to make sense of where she was.  

She didn't know what had come over her, the lights had been impossible to resist.  She felt her stomach flip uncomfortably as she realized what she had done.  She wasn't sure of the way out.   She'd dropped her makeshift spear somewhere, and that only made her feel less secure.  

_I could go back.  I should go back._

Taking a deep breath and trying to ease the ache in her lungs, she glanced behind her.  Her relief was immediate; her path had left footprints in the snow.  She could follow her trail back home.  

_A few more minutes can't hurt.  I've come this far._

As if it could read her mind, one lone light winked back into her peripheral vision.  Unconsciously, she took a step towards it.  This one moved slowly, playfully, beckoning her to follow.  

So she did.  Stepping carefully, she followed the light a few feet forwards until her boot tapped against something hidden in the snow.  Her brow furrowed, and she squatted ungracefully, not caring that her hem was soaking through with the snow.  

She carefully brushed the snow off of a mushroom, bright red and spotted.  Then another, and another, and another.  

Hermione had found the last marker.  A perfect circle of fungi that shouldn't have survived the frosts.  She traced a path around the perimeter, uncovering the caps of the mushrooms as she went.  She could almost taste her excitement.  

But she wasn't finished yet.  There was one more thing she had to try.  Then she could return home, to the warmth and safety of the village.  The signs of magic weren't enough.  

She needed to see one.  Then she would have her answer.  

She knew in her bones that she was in the right place at the right time.  The witches took midnight for their own, but the fairies were said to live in the hours between darkness and light, creatures that didn't owe their allegiance to the light or the dark.  

Dredging up a measure of courage, she tried to dampen her excitement.  

She began to sing softly, wracking her young brain for the lyrics of a tune that the village children sang when they played. Her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. 

_"Trøllabundin eri eg eri e_

_Galdramaður festi meg festi meg_

_Trøllabundin djúpt í míni sál í míni sál_

_Í hjartanum logar brennandi bál brennandi bál"_

It was an ancient song, her father couldn't even tell her where it had come from.  She stumbled over the pronunciation of several of the words; she was tongue-tied from the cold.  The tune was melodious, she always felt drawn to it when she heard it sung.  It reminded her of ancient drumbeats, of wild dancing and the full moon, of things she'd never heard but her ancestral blood remembered.  The language was long gone from West Anglia, but she instinctively understood.  It was a song of love and sorcery, something her ancestors would have delighted to hear. 

_"Trøllabundin eri eg eri eg_

_Galdramaður festi meg festi meg"_

She darted a glance around the forest, unable to ignore the strangely warm wind that had started to blow, ruffling her hair and making her shiver.  The shining trees seemed to dance in the fading light, and she felt a rush of something that she couldn't describe.  Despite her instincts telling her to abandon the song and run, she wrapped her cloak around her arms and kept going.  

_"Trøllabundin inn í hjartarót í hjartarót_

_Eyga mítt festist har ið galdramaðurin stóð"_

Her grandmother had warned her that the ancient songs weren't to be trifled with.  She should have listened.  

But nothing happened.  

Hermione felt slightly stupid, standing alone in a rapidly darkening forest singing a song rumored to summon a sprite, but she continued, determined to finish what she'd started.  

She finished the last stanza and waited.  And waited.  And waited, for what felt like an eternity.  

The forest was silent, even the air seemed to be holding its breath.  No more gusting wind, no chirping of birds, and certainly no magical creatures appearing after they'd been summoned.  

_It doesn't matter, nothing's happening anyways.  Father was right-_

"You got the words wrong." 

The silence of the forest was shattered by the dry remark, and Hermione felt her back stiffen.  She turned slowly, unsure what to expect from the creature who suddenly stood in the middle of the mushroom circle.  He'd appeared out of nowhere, and he stood quietly, noiseless in the snow.  Her own boots crunched in the ice as she pivoted, trying to get a good look at him.  Her hair flew out behind her as she whirled, stopping suddenly when she saw him.  

_My God._

Her eyes darted over every inch of him, her fear was only kept at bay by her overwhelming curiosity.  He laughed quietly, the sound of his voice sounded like molten silver, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.  

"But you got the tune right," he continued quietly, inclining his head and watching her with impossibly grey eyes.  His hair was so blond that it was almost white, and it shimmered in the dusky glow of the sunset.  He wore a dark cloak, hemmed at his knees, and she saw that he didn't wear any shoes.  His skin glittered, shining gently in the fading light; he was an otherworldly, ethereal creature.  

"Y-you're real," she finally stammered, clutching her cloak around her. He eclipsed everything she'd ever heard about fairies, he was the most beautiful thing that she'd ever seen.  "Who are you, where did you come from?"

"So many questions," he murmured, his expression unreadable. "My name isn't important."

"You don't want to give it to me," she breathed, struggling to remember.  "It would let me control you-"

"Hardly."  His eyes took in every detail of her face, his neutral expression made her nervous.  She couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking about.  

"Have you been watching me?"  She whispered, still transfixed by his sudden appearance.  "You sent the lights."

"No."

"Why did you come when I called?"

He didn't respond, simply watched her with ancient eyes.  She suddenly felt self-conscious, a child in a too-large cloak and sodden shoes with wild, curly hair.  Hardly a fair maiden or a dashing knight. 

"There is an ancient law.  I have no choice but to obey it," he finally said coldly, his eyes narrowing as he took in her amazement.  

"What kind of law-"

He let out a short, impatient huff, interrupting her.  "Get on with it, human." 

She snapped her mouth closed and glared at him, her pride suddenly rearing its ugly head.  "Get on with  _what_?" 

His lips twisted into a cruel sneer, and she felt a frisson of fear.  "You summoned me, and you don't even know what you're supposed to do?" 

"I didn't expect you to be real," she whispered, her hands unconsciously drawing her cloak more tightly around her.  "I didn't plan for what would happen if you actually came." 

"Let me make one thing clear," he said bitterly, his eyes darkening into a flinty silver.  "If I wasn't bound to this circle I would have stopped your sorry little heart for disturbing me.  Get on with it.  What do you desire more than anything else?"

She swallowed nervously, her heart beating madly.  Her brain wasn't fast enough to catch up to her mouth, and she found herself speaking before she could clamp her mouth shut.  

"I want knowledge," she blurted out, a bright flush burning over her cheeks.  "I want to know everything."

His dark smirk flustered her, and he shook his head slightly, his silver hair flashing in the fleeting light.  "That's not specific enough.  Try again, little girl." 

She thought for a moment, her emotions a competing mixture of frustration and curiosity.  "Fine, I want to be able to learn to do anything that I choose.  And do it well," she added hastily, her mind whirring.  

"Clever," he murmured, his eyes hadn't lost their hard edge.  "Very well.  I give you my oath, your wish is granted."

She let out a breath that she didn't realize that she'd been holding.  "I could have wished for anything? So the stories were right." 

"Yes, but you made your choice.  Now you need to fulfill your end of the bargain." 

She felt her blood run cold as he took a step towards her, his hand held out, palm towards her.  "What?"

"There's always a price," he said, his tone deepening.  "Magic never comes for free, now I get to choose what to take from you. It might hurt, but there's nothing I can do about that. Come here."  

She felt adrenaline flooding into her veins as her knees threatened to give out.  Whether she was paralyzed by fear or magic, she didn't know.  

"W-wait!"

"Should I take your name, your blood, or your happiest memory?"  He mused, moving ever closer.  She felt her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and she tried to take a step backwards.  Her body wouldn't obey her, and she started to panic.  

"Or perhaps your first born child, humans give that away readily enough."  

_No!_

"I don't have anything-"

"Oh, but you do.  I think I'll take a piece of your soul, then.  You can survive without it." 

_No, he can't!  I wasn't told about this part of the deal, they're supposed to be benevolent! I didn't ask for a kingdom, or magic, or-_

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." 

His voice softened, and she heard a gentle sound that threatened to lull her into a stupor, like tiny bells.  She felt a fog descending over her mind as he beckoned to her, his voice so soothing that all she wanted to do was step into the circle and give him what he asked for-

"Hermione, step closer.  It's all right-"

_I never told him my name._

True fear took root in her chest, bitter and acidic in her veins.  With a surge of strength, she forced herself back to reality by biting into her lip so hard that she tasted the iron tang of her blood.  

"Take a step towards me," the creature insisted, his voice losing its hypnotic effect as his tone became rougher, a flicker of desperation marring the beauty of the sound.  

"No!"  She yelled hoarsely, breaking the spell.  He stared at her, anger flaring on his handsome, eerie face as she turned and began to run, moving as quickly as her legs would take her.  

She ran, feeling nothing but pure, animal panic as she sprinted through the trees, dashing through the undergrowth and following her path back to the village.  She didn't look back as she heard an enraged scream from behind her, it only spurred her onwards, causing her to run faster and faster through the rapidly descending darkness.  

She hurtled over the brook, her hair flying as she stumbled and fell, banging her chin against the frozen ground.  Her adrenaline soothed the pain and she was off again, stopping only to tear the bone charm that had led her to the creature off the branch that held it.  She threw it with all of her might, watching as it clattered down a distant ravine.  

Trembling, she picked up the pace again, ignoring the pain in her protesting lungs and the blood that dripped from her chin.  She ran for what felt like hours, finally reaching the outskirts of the forest and making for the soothing firelight that spilled out of her home.  

Hermione skidded to a halt, she wrenched the front door open and darted inside.  She threw the lock home with shaking hands and leaned against the door, frantically wiping tears from her face.  

"Hermione, what's wrong?"  Her father strode to where she stood, slumped against the door frame. "What happened, did you fall?" 

For a second, she contemplated telling her father about what she'd seen, what she'd done.  But the words wouldn't come.  She nodded instead, allowing her father to tow her to his surgery to get patched up.  

She vowed never to return to the heart of the forest, to never read another story about the fairies ever again.  She swore on her immortal soul that she would never again search for magic.  

_I never completed the deal, there's nothing to be afraid of._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew okay, so I am already so excited about writing this story! The song is an old Faroe love song, I didn't make it up! It's called Trollabundin if you're curious- it's haunting so it fit what I was going for. :) x


	3. Glass Bottles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been eleven years since Hermione set foot in the forest. She prepares for her new life, always conscious of her broken promise.

Hermione yawned.  She stretched languorously, rolling her neck and sighing contentedly as her back cracked.  She slammed the cover of the book that she'd been reading shut, absentmindedly waving away the dust that flew into her face. 

Rubbing her eyes, she glanced out the glazed glass window.  It wasn't a shock to her that she'd been sitting in the same spot for hours; the sun was about to set.  If she craned her neck, she could see her mother bustling around in the garden, pulling carrots and potatoes for their dinner.  As if she could tell that Hermione was watching her, her head popped up, staring straight into the window behind which Hermione sat. 

Hermione quickly ducked out of sight, ignoring the pang of guilt that assaulted her.   _She's likely to burst into tears again; you have every right to avoid her until it's time to leave._

_Four more days, then you can relax.  You're only going to be three days travel from here._

She sighed, suddenly struck with a feeling that she couldn't name.  

Some would call it regret, but Hermione stubbornly refused to admit that she was terrified to leave the only home that she'd ever known.  She'd taken to reading obsessively, trying to keep her anxiety at bay.  The guilty little voice in the back of her head never missed an opportunity to remind her that she was, for all intents and purposes, an impostor.  

_You don't deserve this opportunity_ , it would whisper nastily.  _You cheated_.  

She couldn't deny that she had a dark secret.  But, after what had happened in the forest all those years ago, she simply refused to believe in anything that wasn't tangible.  If she didn’t believe in it, it would go away.

Right?

So she had decided to focus on her studies, boycotting any literature that danced around the subject of the supernatural.  If she had it her way, she wouldn't even own a bible; it was too direct of a reminder that there were things that science couldn’t explain.  

Absentmindedly, she rubbed the old scar underneath her chin.  It was a nervous habit that her mother had tried hard to discourage.  The scar tissue was an uncomfortable souvenir of what she’d experienced in the forest all of those years ago.

She would take her secret to the grave, of that she was sure.  She was constantly torn between stubborn denial and unhappy acceptance; it was a strange way to live.  She wasn’t sure how much of her accomplishments were her own and which ones had only come about because of otherworldly interference, which made her feel like she was constantly living a lie.

It was almost like a half-life.  One that most certainly held the whiff of a curse, which she knew she deserved.  One didn’t just get to turn away from a fairy bargain, not after it had been struck. 

Hermione hadn't set foot in the forest in ten years, which suited her mother just fine.    _A full curse would have manifested by now, surely._

She wanted desperately to put distance between herself and the creature who resided in the woods.

So, naturally, she had jumped at the chance to leave her village behind.  The Duke of Sussex had recently taken on a new physician, one who was looking for a qualified apprentice.  Her father had very quietly made some inquiries; he'd surprised her with the good news barely a month previously. 

_"Hermione, come and sit," he'd said excitedly, motioning for her to join him.  "I've received some correspondence that will interest you."_

_She obeyed, her interest already piqued._

_"My dear," her father said, taking her hands in his own, "I know that you aren't satisfied in this little village of ours.  So I've taken the liberty of begging a favor from an old friend."_

_"I don't-" she began to protest, cutting off with a sigh as her father waved her objection away._

_"It's no secret that you’re brighter than you’ll ever admit.  I haven't told your mother of my plans yet, I don't think she'll be terribly happy with me.  But, nevertheless, I have secured you a position in the court of the Duke of Sussex; you're to leave in a month."_

_Hermione's jaw dropped, and for once she had nothing to say._

_He chuckled good-naturedly at her shock, squeezing her hand.  "My friend in the clergy is very well acquainted with the man who has recently taken the post of physician to the Duke; he's in need of someone who has some training and experience to help him attend to the lord and his family. Father Albus has very kindly secured permission from the good doctor to take you on as an apprentice."_

_"F-Father, I haven't got the training, nor the-"_

_"Hermione, I have taught you everything that I know.  If I had your mind I have no doubt that I could wait upon the king.  Don't deny it; you seem to pick up anything that you try.  Perhaps there's a bit of truth to those old stories after all.  Magic runs in our blood, us Grangers."  He'd mused, tapping his finger against the table._

_Despite her best attempts to remain neutral, she'd flinched._

_He sighed at her reaction, standing abruptly and lacing his fingers together.  "I know that you've always wanted to leave Ashwood.  I don't know why, so I won't pry.  But believe me when I say that another opportunity like this is unlikely to present itself."_

_"I'll go," she blurted out, unable to stop the excitement from welling up inside of her.  "I want to go!"_

_"Excellent, I'll send along the good news.  Keep this quiet from your mother for a little while, mind.  She's likely to be quite cross with me."_

Humming, she stood up, trying in a futile effort to arrange her hair back into the plaits that she'd spent far too long weaving that morning.  She eventually gave up, tousling her lion's mane of curls and striding to the door as soon as her mother had disappeared into the cottage opposite the surgery.  Her mind was occupied by her research, so much so that she didn't hear the clinking of glass vials outside the door.  Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, the heavy wooden door was flung open from the other side.  

She almost fell flat on her face. 

She barely caught herself in time, clutching the doorway and glaring halfheartedly at the man who stood outside, his hands still occupied by the large wooden boxes that he was carrying.  "Ron, you could have knocked!" 

"Sorry, 'Mione," he rumbled, glancing at her from around his burden, his bright red hair shining in the sunlight.  "I didn't know you were still in there.  Give me a hand, would you?" 

She stepped aside, holding the door open as he maneuvered the heavy boxes through the low door frame and deposited them gently on the wooden table that she had just vacated.  "How did you open the door so quickly?" She asked, a smirk tracing its lazy way across her mouth. "I didn't even hear you coming up the way, and with all that glass you're making a racket." 

He shrugged, still unpacking his delivery.  "When you've got your nose in a book, the king's fanfare couldn't make you look up." 

She laughed, helping him to gently remove the vials and bottles from their straw-packed boxes and arranging them according to size on her father's shelves.  "Fine, you have a point.  Where's Father?"

"Still at the inn, I think.  Hermes still hasn't gotten over that limp; his right hoof is still swollen,” he replied, his brow furrowing as he inspected on of the bottles.  "This one's cracked; it'll have to go back." 

"You're sure?"  She peered over her shoulder, tsking at the hairline crack that bisected the delicate vial.  "Bother, they're so expensive." 

"Your father won't be happy," Ron mused, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he moved the rest of the boxes off the table.  

"He can never stay angry with you."

He grunted inelegantly in response.  

"So, how've you been?"  She asked, shooting him a glance through a curtain of her hair as she busied herself with rearranging the plants that sat on the windowsill.  "Anything new happening in town?" 

"Not really," he replied distractedly, picking up the rest of the bottles and checking them for flaws.  "I saw you yesterday. There's not much going on this time of year.  The harvest isn't for another month-"  

"Oh really, because that's not what I heard."  He glanced up at her teasing tone, his brow furrowing.  

"Nothing's happened, honest."  

He was so earnest that she almost believed him.  

"I'm sure," Hermione murmured, hopping up on the table and giving him a pointed look.  "So, is there any reason why you're avoiding telling me about how your walk with Lavender went last night?" 

He turned a striking shade of red, which clashed magnificently with his fiery hair.  "Ginny told you, didn't she?"

She couldn't keep a grin off her face.  "She did, but only after I wrestled it out of her.  Why didn't you mention it?" 

"I asked her to keep it quiet.  There's not much to tell." 

"You liar!"  She crossed her arms in mock annoyance and raised her eyebrow.  "I doubt that very much." 

He sighed, running his hand over his face.  She noted with some amusement that he had only managed to deposit an impressive smear of dirt on his nose.  "She talked about children nearly the whole time. I barely got a word in."  

"Well, her sister has two, and her brother has three.  I'm sure she's feeling left out," Hermione said lightly, hopping off the table and untying some of the dried herbs that hung above her head.  "She's twenty and unmarried, so people are starting to whisper.  You should understand what that's like." 

"You're twenty-one and unmarried," his tone warmed with amusement before he uncrossed his arms and moved to help her.  "I'm the sixth son of a poor family; the girls aren't lining up to be courted." 

"Oh, Ron.  Don't start wallowing," she groaned, taking in a lungful of thyme-scented air.  "You've got plenty of qualities that are just as good as anyone, better actually." 

"Pigs wallow, I complain," he grumbled, wiping his hands on his apron.  "I just don't want to court someone who's more concerned about what people think of her than how we feel about each other." 

Her eyes widened, and the hint of a blush appeared in the apples of her cheeks.  "How very chivalrous of you, Ronald.  You're wasted in this place."

"Don't mock me," he muttered, walking over to her father's desk and rummaging around in it for a moment.  Finally, he produced several metal surgical instruments and began to clean them with a quiet fervor.  "You're leaving, and soon you'll be clad in silks and walking with some lord's son.  Consider naming one of your children after me, won't you?" 

She didn't miss the bitterness in his tone, despite his attempt to make a joke.  

"Ron," she sighed walking over to where he was determinedly working and leaning against the wall beside him.  "I'm not abandoning you.  Father Albus thinks that I would be a good fit for the position, that's all.  He should have chosen you." 

 "’Mione, you're too damn talented.  You should go."  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help the small smile that crept over his face. "Don't give me that look." 

She rolled her eyes.  "I'm a girl, there's only so far I can go. You could become a great surgeon." 

He shook his head, his expression wistful.  "I'm happy to take over your father's shop when he retires.  We can't all gallivant off; Mum would never forgive me if I left." 

"Come visit me, as often as you can," she whispered, trying to immortalize this memory in her mind.  "I'm going to be awfully lonely without you around." 

"You'll be just fine; you'll have plenty to do."

"Plenty of time to make a fool of myself," she grumbled, crossing her arms self-consciously.  "I'll be some simple village girl who doesn't know the proper way to do anything."

 "Have you finished that book on court etiquette yet?" 

"Yes, but only just. It's French, so I don't know if that will be enough to endear me to anyone."  She impatiently blew a curl out of her face and gestured for him to turn to face the centre of the room.  "I need to practice my curtsy." 

“Don’t nobles send their young ladies to France?”

“I’m not a lady, so I don’t know,” she retorted.  “Turn around, please.”

He sighed, but turned around obediently.  She took a deep breath and concentrated.  It wasn't difficult, in theory.  "Tell me if my leg wobbles." 

"Ah, but you'll be remembered if it does.  Perhaps the Duke is in need of a new jester," he chuckled at the dirty look that she threw him. "They'll call you Hermi-o-ninny." 

 She managed to simultaneously perform an elegant curtsy and gesture rudely at the same time, laughing loudly at the shocked look that flitted across his expression; she laughed so hard that she nearly lost her balance.

He recovered quickly, shaking his head at her.  "Where'd you learn that?" 

"A book," she responded easily, still grinning.  "The elegant hand flourish was learned from Fred." 

"I should have known," he groaned, striding to the window and peering out at the setting sun. "They've yet to write a book about something that you can't learn, are you sure that you didn't make a deal with the devil?  Ah, there's your father now." 

He was turned away from her, so he missed the flash of fear that colored her expression before she was able to regain control of her emotions.  She swallowed hard, trying to arrange her features into a warm smile.  

She'd never plucked up the courage to tell Ron what she'd seen in the woods all those years ago. 

A second later, Hermione heard the clatter of a horse and cart and her father's determined commands.  "I'd better go and soothe Hermes.  Can you measure out some oats for a mash before you go?" 

She was out the door before he responded, completely clueless to his lingering gaze.  

Her father barely glanced at her as he fussed over their large, stocky draft horse.  The gelding regarded Hermione with eyes red-rimmed and watering from pain, and she immediately moved to reassure him, breathing in his familiar earthy smell as she gently patted his soft nose.  "He's still hurting, Father." 

"I know, that damn hoof is trying to foster an infection."  Her father swept off his hat and regarded her with eyes blood-shot from exhaustion. 

“I was up all night making a poultice, but he's kicked the medicine off.  Tom is convinced that he needs a new shoe, won't listen when I tell him that there's something wrong with the whole foot.  This is why he never managed to make it as a teamster."  The last statement was muffled as he ducked around the horse and made for the cottage. 

"Ron's brought the order in, you're going to want to take a look," she called absently, still comforting Hermes.  “Besides, Tom was just trying to help.  It doesn’t matter that he was wrong.”

“Hermione, when you have him yammering in your ear about the best way to loop stitches, I’ll gently remind you of what you said.”  His cheeky response was tempered by the warm smile that lit up his hazel eyes. 

Hermione clucked gently, moving carefully to the offending hoof.  She lifted it, administering a gentle slap to the horse's rump as he resisted her ministrations.  Her eyes raked over the injury, and she made a small "ah" of satisfaction as she found what she was looking for.  "Father, there's a rock wedged deep underneath where the old shoe is. There's swelling, it has to be. I reckon it's been there for at least a fortnight." 

"You know how to get it out, I was hoping to draw it out with the poultice" he called, hoisting a large canvas sack over his shoulder.  "I have some strong spirits in the shop-" 

She laughed, shaking her curls out of her eyes as she set the hoof back down.  "I need to be whole and hearty when I arrive at the Duke's court; there is no way that I'm inviting this grumpy animal to kick me silly.  He'll have to bear it without the added sting."  

“My dear, the alcohol is for you,” he chuckled, waving at Ron, who had just popped out of the workshop.  “My dear Ronald, how badly have we been swindled this time? The apothecary’s always charging far too much for his supplies.”

“Terribly, I’m afraid,” he replied, his eyes glittering with amusement.  “I’ve set aside all of the items that you can argue over.”

Hermione chuckled and turned her attention back to Hermes, who was still dutifully standing on one leg.  “Those two are incorrigible, aren’t they?” She murmured fondly, sticking her tongue between her teeth in concentration as she bent over the swollen hoof.

_I’m going to miss them._


	4. First Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione arrives in Sussex.

_Sunlight pierced through the clouds in bright beams, illuminating the forest with swathes of golden light. The ice crystals in the air shimmered, bathing the woodland in an unearthly glow. The wind flowed easily through the trees, sending small patches of mist swirling into lazy whirlpools. There were no birds, no mammals; it felt like the wood held its breath in preparation for a storm._

_Something wasn't right._

_This patch of trees wasn't in the human realm; Hermione could feel that in her bones._

_She ran through the trees, her breath puffing out in clouds around her as she sprinted as fast as she could towards the safety of the glen just beyond her sightline. Her cloak flapped around her ankles and threatened to trip her as she broke through the thin crust of ice on top of the snow._

_She fell, banging her knees and elbows on the ice as her momentum caused her to lose her footing. She struggled to her feet, fighting against the crushing weight of the snow that stuck to her legs. As the frozen water touched her skin she felt her nerves firing, freezing and burning her at the same time._

_Everything was silver. The snow shimmered, the air shone, and the eyes that followed her glinted with triumph as they sped closer._

_She let out a whimper of fear, trying to move even faster as she heard the sound of small bells behind her. She continued onwards, feeling as though she was trying to move through molasses as the snow deepened and her limbs began to go numb with the cold._

_She felt a frisson of dread roll down her spine as the sound of the bells stopped; in their place was a beautiful, mocking laugh._

_Adrenaline sang through her veins as she turned around, watching in horror as the alien creature strode towards her. He moved breathtakingly quickly across the surface of the snow, and his unnerving eyes flashed as his stunning face twisted into a horrific grin. There was nothing to feel but pure animal panic as she realized that she was rooted in place; her limbs refused to obey her and her mouth was frozen shut._

_She felt like she couldn't breathe as he circled her, laughing softly. The sound was like ripping fabric, nails on a chalkboard, silk over red-hot iron, all at the same time._

_"Hermione," the creature whispered, reaching out and trailing his ice-cold hand down the length of her throat, leaning closer as her pupils dilated and her nostrils flared with fear. She could taste her own panic, bitter and acrid as smoke, as she struggled to breathe. He smelled like cinnamon, and musk, and something seductive that wasn't human._

_Her instincts screamed at her to run, to get away, and to push him away from her._

_But she couldn't move._

_"It's time to pay your debt," he continued, stopping in front of her and watching with a predatory smile as she tried in vain to free herself. "This will only hurt if you fight me."_

_She screamed silently as he darted forwards and sank his teeth into her neck. She couldn't think, couldn't move as she fell backwards into the snow, her heart pumping frantically as her body shifted into overdrive. Everything felt heavy, viscous, and she felt her mind descending into a silver-toned fog._

_Hermione was dying. All that her mind could process was the triumphant laugh of the fae, his tone high and cruel as he watched her bleed out-_

* * *

Hermione woke up with a start, noticing with embarrassment that she'd managed to drool profusely all over herself.  _I didn't realize that I had fallen asleep. How mortifying._

Her heart was hammering, and she had to take a deep, calming breath. She'd been having that dream on a loop for years. It never failed to shake her composure.

She hurriedly wiped her chin, darting a glance over at the kindly old man who shared her carriage. She'd fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, and her tomato-red blush burned across her cheeks as she stammered out an apology.

Father Albus rewarded her with a soft smile as he surveyed her over his half-moon spectacles. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he offered her his handkerchief. "There's no need to apologize, Miss Granger, I assure you that I didn't notice. I was far too absorbed in my own thoughts."

"Thank you, Father. How long was I asleep?"

"Nearly three hours, I believe," he replied, regarding her with his wise old eyes.

She smiled back, comforted by his steady presence. "You needed the rest."

Hermione was impressed; she wasn't usually someone who needed to nap. She hurriedly wiped her face and hesitantly offered him his handkerchief back. He shook his head, indicating with a wave of his hand that she should keep it.

"That's unlike me, but not unwelcome," she finally replied, her blush still burning in her cheeks as she carefully tucked the fine fabric square away for safekeeping.

Father Albus clearly agreed with her. Still smiling, he set down his knitting needles and raised one eyebrow.

"I must admit that I assumed you to be far too anxious to rest, however, I think it did you some good. Am I correct to guess that you didn't sleep a wink either of the nights since we've started our journey?"

Hermione sighed, tearing her glance away from the countryside that she was determinedly watching out the small window. "You're as astute as ever, Father. My mother was angry with me for making the decision to come to Sussex. I'm having a hard time with leaving her."

"She's your mother; you can't begrudge her the right to weep at your leaving."

"I'm stuck between excitement and guilt," she admitted, "And, well-"

She paused, unsure how to phrase what she was about to say.

"Please, continue."

"It might be my nerves, but I'm quite sure that I'm the wrong person for the position," she replied, looking down at her hands. "My friend Ron Weasley is equally as qualified. I feel like an impostor -"

Hermione cut off when she saw the slightly disapproving look on his face.

"Why do you feel like an impostor?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and regarding her with calm curiosity.

"It's hard to explain," she replied evasively, avoiding his inquisitive gaze.

She knew that her statement was very vague, but that was about as much as she was willing to admit to a priest. He was a very kind man, and had done wonders for her village, but she wasn't about to confess that she'd essentially sold her soul to an ancient creature. That and she still didn't know if she'd been recommended for this post because of her own merit or magical intervention.

Good God, she hated magic.

She was also fully aware that there was only so much that he could overlook. He knew the local stories of course, but she would rather die than open herself up to an investigation. In fact, she just might end up dead if the church started looking into her past.

His expression didn't change, but there was something subtle that flickered across his striking eyes that made her feel like she was two inches tall.

"My dear, I wouldn't have recommended you for this post if I didn't believe that you were capable," he chastised her gently, resuming his knitting with enthusiasm as he spoke.

"Yes, thank you," she said quickly, afraid that she'd offended him. His expression immediately lost its stern cast, and he thought for a moment before he spoke.

"I must ask you to stop doubting your knowledge, Hermione. You will be studying under one of the most qualified doctors in all of Great Britain. He'll teach you what you need to know. Your father would never have let you leave if he thought that you weren't going to achieve great things."

Hermione bit her lip, still embarrassed as he continued to knit as if they'd never spoken, his needles clacking gently against one another.

When he didn't say anything else, she suppressed a sigh and turned her attention to the forest that surrounded the kingsroad.

_Even the trees are different here._

She'd spent two and a half days in this carriage, and she couldn't wait to get out of the confines of the wooden vehicle. The constant bumping and clattering of the cart made it difficult to think, and she had been trying to devote a lot of time to that lately. She'd already read through both of the medical journals that she'd brought with her.

_The joys of not sleeping for two days_ , she thought drily.

She'd spent hours reviewing all of her knowledge of herbs and healing plants (that alone took her nearly a full day), and now she was trying to remember how to set a bone in seventeen different ways that might be applicable in the Duke's court.

So far, she'd covered quite a few potential injuries, most of which would only be applicable to the young men of the court.  _Jousting, hunting, falling down stairs, dancing and falling, drunken dueling, dueling in general, dueling with both practice and real swords, falling from a horse, being bucked off of a horse, being hit with a chandelier-_

She was jostled out of her thoughts by the unfortunate appearance of a rather deep pothole, which rocked her backwards, forcing her to hit her head hard against the carriage frame.

"Ow!" She exclaimed, realizing too late that another (rather unfortunate) word had also slipped out of her lips as her hand flew up to her temple to assess the damage. She darted a glance at Father Albus, who didn't seem bothered in the slightest by her language.

"Yes, quite," he murmured, seamlessly picking up a stitch that he'd dropped when they'd been catapulted three feet in the air by the state of the road. Hermione couldn't help the small smile that lit up her face as she returned to staring out the window.

For a priest, he was rather fun.

She returned to her thoughts, trying and failing to hide her amusement.

Instead of medical revision, however, her mind had now turned to engineering, and how she could possibly manufacture a wheel that could survive these roads during the winter. The current wheel that she sat above protested loudly as they continued to roll along; a new squeak joined the clattering din of the horse and cart.

With the exception of the squeaking, the carriage was quite pleasant, even though she was very sick of sitting in it. The clip-clopping of the horses and the scent of painted wood were very familiar to her.

She was suddenly struck with a pang of homesickness.

Already, she missed her little village. She missed the familiar smell of her father's pipe, and the way that her mother would hum when she cooked. She missed the scent of the grass after the rain, and the way that her mother always kept a small bundle of lavender beside her bed. She was reluctant to admit it, but she even missed the sound of the wind rustling through the forest.

Without thinking, her fingers ran incessantly over Ron's parting gift. He'd strung a small piece of metal into a pendant, knowing that she'd want to take a piece of home with her. It warmed her to think that she carried something that was forged by a friend.

_"It's just a small bit," he'd muttered, his flushed face at odds with his fiery hair. "You won't be here for your birthday, so I'm just giving it to you in advance. Don't lose it, otherwise I'm going to have to replace it, and I don't want to. You know how much I hate going into Bill's smithy."_

_She'd laughed and looped it over her head, already pleased with the comforting weight of it against her collarbone. "Thanks, Ron. I won't lose it. I'll think of you whenever I wear it."_

_She had meant that in a teasing, sisterly way, but she was surprised to see him turn an even more alarming shade of red and begin to sputter that it wasn't much, that she really shouldn't go through the trouble, that it was just some metal, it didn't mean anything-_

"The Duke's lands start right over there, by the forest!" The driver suddenly called, forcefully pulling Hermione's thoughts back to the present. "We're barely three miles from his home."

"Thank you, Ernie!" Father Albus called out the window, smartly tapping his walking stick on the top of the carriage. "Excellent. I've been looking forward to trying something that his Grace has recently brought to court; I believe it's called a lemon."

"A lemon?" Hermione repeated, unsure why he was so excited about it. "What is it?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. I'd wager a guess that it might be some kind of exotic vegetable," he answered cheerfully, steepling his fingers together and settling back into his seat.

"Is it edible?"

"Perhaps it is, perhaps not," he replied cryptically, leaning his chin against his hand and staring dreamily out the window. Hermione was fairly well accustomed to his eccentricities by this point, so she sighed and returned to her thoughts. Her mind began to swirl with anxiety, and to her dismay, it made her palms clammy and her heart beat accelerate.

_If Ron could see me now, he'd laugh, s_ he thought sullenly, fighting the urge to sigh again.  _I'm sweating and shaking already and we're still miles away from court._

Abruptly, Albus sat bolt upright and turned to her, his knitting quite forgotten in his lap. "Ah, Miss Granger, there's something that I've neglected to mention."

She stared at him for a moment in surprise before she remembered to answer. "Yes?"

"You will be going straight to meet the Duke as soon as we arrive. Forgive me; my memory for these things is poor of late."

She felt a flicker of worry, but tried to keep her expression neutral. "The Duke would take the time to see me?"

_Why on earth..?_

Father Albus stroked his long beard in thought. "Your first few days will be a bit of a whirlwind, I expect. The Duke's son is in rather bad shape. You will be needed to begin treating him immediately."

Her anxiety forgotten, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her. She turned all of her attention to Father Albus and sat up straight; her mind was already whirring through lists of possible maladies. "Go on, please. What's the matter with him?"

"It seems to be an illness of the mind, or that was the implication of Master Slughorn's correspondence. He has not quite been himself these last several months."

Hermione's brow furrowed and she tapped her index finger against her thigh as she thought. "Hm, that would mean any number of things. Have you seen him since he's been ill?"

"I haven't. I must admit that part of my coming on this trip is entirely selfish; I would very much like to see his condition for myself. If there is something the Church is able to do to help, I am entirely at his Grace's service."

Hermione's already intense expression darkened, and she tapped her chin in thought. "No one else has the sickness?"

"It doesn't appear to be spreading, however I urge you to use caution, Miss Granger. He was a docile child, always kind and considerate. Then, quite suddenly he has completely cast off his good breeding; it is as if he is a different person," Albus continued, his bright eyes alight with interest.

"That is concerning," Hermione murmured, unsure as to whether to take this so-called illness seriously.

"I hope that it is a case of willful disobedience, he is perhaps rebelling against his father."

"Do you know why he would do that?" Hermione asked carefully, trying not to sound like a gossip. "Is he at odds with the Duke in some way?"

"Most assuredly. He is quite new to manhood, so I would assume that his new responsibilities as heir to the dukedom are weighing quite heavily on him. He certainly is not the first young lord to fly off the handle."

He nodded to himself as he answered, taking up his knitting again with a conspiratorial look in his eye. She waited expectantly for him to continue, and his eyes twinkled as if he were about to tell her a joke.

"Off the handle..?" She prompted him, hoping that he wouldn't leave her in suspense.

"Hmm, yes. He has been engaged to be married to a neighboring Baron's daughter since infancy. He seemed quite content with the arrangement until he became ill. I have it on good authority that he referred to her as a "filthy, undeserving cow" quite recently."

"Oh dear."

"Not a flattering picture to paint of the lady, to be sure, however I have met her," he said good-naturedly, completely glossing over his casual insult.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Hermione replied slowly, unsure if she was supposed to fill in the blanks. "Is it a comment on her appearance? That brings to mind someone of, um, well a rather spotty complexion."

"Good gracious, no, she is as lovely as a rose. However, on the subject of her personality, I'm inclined to agree with Lord Draco."

He tapped the side of his nose with one long finger, winking at her as she grinned back. "That should stay within the confines of this carriage, my dear. The Lady Parkinson is quite an accomplished young woman; however her personality leaves something to be desired. The word that I would choose to describe her is "conniving"."

"I won't tell anyone," she murmured, silently thinking to herself that she was good at keeping secrets. It wasn't a problem to keep some idle gossip quiet.

"I shan't repeat that," he said slyly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I understand," Hermione muttered, already familiar with women who did nothing but try to undermine others for their own amusement. "So that's the problem?"

"Not quite. It seems as though the young lord is determined to send his father to an early grave. He has quite regularly been seen frequenting some establishments that are not well-regarded by anyone of his station."

"Oh, my," Hermione said faintly, her face turning pink as the good priest trailed off; she knew exactly what kind of businesses the young lord was interested in. "I'm guessing that his Grace expects a significant improvement in his son's condition, however, I'm not sure that he can reasonably expect us to cure the young man of his...tastes."

Albus chuckled heartily at her response, wiping at one eye under his spectacles as he regarded her with no small measure of amusement. "How diplomatic of you, Miss Granger. We'll make a fine court lady out of you yet."

"Father, should I be concerned for the lord's life?" Hermione asked worriedly, suddenly struck with the possibility that the Duke may blame the doctor if his son didn't survive.

"No, not in the slightest," Father Albus replied cheerfully, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he tied off his knitting. "I will say, however, that there isn't much hope for his youthful appearance."

"I thought it was a malady of the mind?" Hermione asked slowly, confused by what he meant.  _If his physically appearance is affected, there's likely something wrong with him internally, and I don't know where to begin with treating him. There are dozens, if not hundreds of different ailments that could be affecting him-_

"That remains to be seen. Apparently, his hair and eyes have lost all of their color," he replied distractedly, holding up two misshapen socks for her inspection. "I do believe that I'm getting the hang of this pattern."

"Yes, they're lovely," she murmured, trying to resist the urge to wring her hands with worry.

Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the carriage turning onto a grand causeway. She peered out of the window, her jaw dropping as she took in the sight of the Duke's castle, squatting on the top of a great hill. Even from this distance she could see that it was immense, fully outfitted with a moat and a drawbridge, fortifications, great towers, and sprawling grounds.

She couldn't help herself, she stared unashamed at the majestic building for the better part of half an hour as they clattered and bounced along. This road was in far better shape than the kingsroad that they'd been travelling on for three days. She noted this with interest; it would seem that the Duke was concerned with his duchy's infrastructure.

She continued to watch, taking in the lush gardens and incredible statues that lined the road. She'd never seen so much wealth in her life. It was with some regret that she forced herself to retake her seat and rearrange her hair into a braid.

_I can't show up looking like a scarecrow_ , she thought, frantically trying to smooth her rebellious curls into some semblance of a deliberate hairstyle.

Sneaking one last glance out of the window, she caught a glimpse of the Duke's crest. A snake eating a lion on a field of emerald green adorned the flags that whipped proudly in the wind. She could see that the same scene had been carefully carved into the castle walls, strong evidence that this family had retained their position in the King's court for decades, perhaps even centuries.

Grand peacocks strutted between carefully trimmed hedges, honking and making a dreadful racket. Although she was transfixed by the sight of them, Hermione wrinkled her nose at the sounds being emitted from their small beaks.  _They're so beautiful, but they're obnoxious._

She was disappointed that her books had never mentioned how unpleasant their calls were.

Father Albus hummed a nameless tune as they clattered up the road, turning and bumping their way along to a large courtyard. Hermione couldn't resist peeking out as they rolled over the moat, noting that it was easily thirty feet deep. As she watched, large fish were drawn to the surface by the vibrations of the carriage, opening their mouths and waiting expectantly for food.

She smiled; it was strangely comforting to know that fish were the same everywhere.

She was doing remarkably well at concealing her anxiety until they passed under the portcullis and gates.  _This is it. We're actually here._

Not for the first time, she wished that Ron had come with her. She appreciated Father Albus' company, but she needed someone who knew her well to distract her.

Far too soon for her liking, the carriage rolled to a stop, jostling its occupants as the driver pulled hard on the reins. Hermione had to throw out a hand to stop herself from flying headlong into the front wall of the carriage, and she glared reproachfully at the wood that separated them from the overenthusiastic teamster.

"Here you are, Father!" Ernie called cheerfully over his shoulder, blissfully unaware of Hermione's irritation as he hopped down from the front seat and opened the carriage door for her.

She took his offered hand gratefully and tried to climb down from the carriage as smoothly as she could. She didn't stumble, but she felt her stomach flip uncomfortably when she realized that there was a large group making their way down from the main keep to the courtyard.

They were currently in one of the auxiliary courtyards; it was presumably used for deliveries and the comings and goings of the servants. She couldn't tell who was walking towards them, but she already knew that it had to be the Duke and his retinue.

She noticed with some dismay that there was no way for her to fix herself up and look presentable, so she settled for attempting to smooth her hair down once more. When her curls simply stuck to her hand with the humidity, she hurriedly tied Father Albus' handkerchief around her head.

Hermione would rather look like the village girl that she was than appear as an uncoiffed slob in front of one of the kingdom's most powerful men. The Duke of Sussex was fourth in line for the throne, and clearly came from a formidable family; it was in her best interest to make a good impression.

She was startled out of her anxious revision of etiquette when a portly man with sandy hair and an impressive moustache bustled out of a nearby door and moved towards them.

"Hello, hello, hello! Albus, you've come to grace us with your presence at last! Do come this way, oh no you really didn't have to fetch me a box of sugared lilacs, but I shan't let them go to waste-"

Father Albus turned, his robes swirling around him as he greeted the man with an enthusiastic handshake and embrace, already speaking animatedly with the newcomer. Several documents exchanged hands, and Hermione's eyes widened as she realized that this busy little man was the doctor who had so generously offered to take her on.

She bobbed a quick curtsy as Horace Slughorn turned his attention to her, rather discombobulated by the knowledge that this cheery, portly man was her sponsor.

"Miss Granger!" He exclaimed, tapping his hand on her elbow as she stood up, smiling widely at her. His impressive mustache rustled as he spoke, making her smile and relax slightly.

"Lord Slughorn," she murmured, her anxious expression softening as he clasped her hands between his own. "It's so nice to finally put a face to the name."

"Welcome, welcome, welcome. Please, you must call me Horace; we're going to be cooped up together for the foreseeable future, I shan't exhaust myself with formalities. Come, you must be ravenously hungry, you're as pale as a ghost!"

"Thank you. In that case, please just call me Hermione," she said gratefully, already feeling more secure in her position now that she'd met him. "I'll welcome the break in formality."

"Excellent. Come along."

Slughorn swept towards the nearest building, motioning for her to follow him. Hermione darted a nervous glance at the large party still making their slow, labouring way down from the top gardens to the buildings where they stood. "Is that the Duke?"

Slughorn peered over her shoulder and let out a good-natured chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. "No, that is the weekly game of tennis. The young court dandies are slowly making their way down to the arena."

"Oh." Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't realised that she'd been holding. "Are we to see the Duke immediately?"

"Impatient to begin work already, eh?" He raised one eyebrow and continued inside the building, ducking under several lines of laundry that hung across the entryway. "Very well. We'll drop in on his study before you get settled."

"Study?" Her brow furrowed in confusion as she followed him through the maze of corridors that connected to the main keep. "Not the main hall?"

"Yes, as Albus has told you, he wishes to discuss several things of a rather personal nature. We are part of a select few, an elite group if you will. We, as doctors, are privy to incredibly sensitive secrets, you know."

Hermione didn't have anything to say, so she simply nodded and continued to follow him. She glanced back at Father Albus, concerned that he would be offended by her leaving, but he simply waved, a twinkle shining in his eye as he dismissed her.

She couldn't help looking over at the large party on the lawn in alarm as yelling suddenly echoed across the grounds. Hermione couldn't see what was happening, but it appeared to be rather serious. Someone was clearly angry, and wasn't afraid to express it.

She was started back to attention by the doctor popping back around the corner. "Miss Granger, I'm afraid that it is bad form to keep the Duke waiting. Come along! We'll find out what's happening later."

For such a portly man, Slughorn moved very quickly, striding through the castle with the confidence of practice. She had to hurry to keep up, patting her hair down at every opportunity.

After what felt like a mile of passageways, they came across a great wooden door carved with the family crest. Hermione didn't know if her heart was hammering because of nervousness or because she'd just hiked quite a ways. She settled for a mixture of the two.

Slughorn knocked on the door, waiting for a nearly inaudible "come in" from the study before pushing the door open. It opened surprisingly smoothly, without a squeak.

Hermione followed the doctor inside, trying not to gape. The books that lined the walls in great oak cases must have been centuries old; her fingers were itching to peruse them. She couldn't help her tiny gasp of surprise as she took in the Duke's collection of maps. She would be quite happy to spend a year in this room, but she wasn't sure if she could work her way through his entire library within that time frame.

"Come, Miss Granger," Slughorn ushered her farther into the room, turning a corner and bowing deeply in respect to the silver-haired man sitting at a great, oak desk.

"Your Grace, I've come to present Miss Hermione Granger, my new apprentice," Slughorn said formally, puffing out his chest and waving a hand at Hermione. "She comes highly recommended."

Hermione curtsied automatically, choosing one that was typically used for princes and kings. Her mind whirred, searching for the information that she'd need to make a good impression on the Duke.

It appeared that she'd chosen correctly, as the Duke's face broke into a soft smile. "Ah, Miss Granger. We have eagerly awaited your arrival. I trust that your journey was restful?"

Hermione knew that she was being tested. "Yes, thank you, Your Grace. I am at your disposal."

The Duke nodded, his expression pensive. "We shall have need of you very shortly, I'm afraid. Tell me, do you know the history of my family?"

Hermione flushed slightly; she hadn't had a chance to finish her book on the noble families yet. "I'm familiar with the very basics, Your Grace; I'm ashamed to admit that we are quite limited in Ashwood as far as literature pertaining to the noble families goes."

He surveyed her frankly, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips. "I must confess that I'm quite pleased to hear that. I am constantly bombarded by courtiers seeking to curry favour by recanting my family's accomplishments to me. It certainly isn't the way to…gain my confidence."

Silently pleased, Hermione bobbed another quick curtsy as the Duke stood, pacing over to one of his magnificent stained glass windows.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"Yes, my Lord," she replied shyly, answering only after Slughorn nodded his encouragement. "Your son is not well."

Lucius sighed, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out the window. He was silent for a moment before he spoke.

"My son is currently suffering from an ailment of the mind that threatens to destroy all that my family has worked hard for. He has a single-minded determination to drive our house to ruin. He doesn't care for the needs of the King, or even the welfare of those who live in our lands. Throughout the last three hundred years the Malfoy lineage has remained one of the most powerful in the country. I shan't have it sullied, and certainly not by a young buck who refuses to heel."

Slughorn nodded, puffing out his chest once again. "We'll have him cured as quickly as possible, my Lord. My apprentice and I will throw ourselves at the task with enthusiasm."

Lucius Malfoy glanced over his shoulder, his white-blond hair shining in the late afternoon light as he regarded the doctor. "I place him entirely in your hands, my Lord. Miss Granger, I must swear you to absolute secrecy."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak her mind, but remembered her place just in time. "Of course, Your Grace. If I may, perhaps we should start seeing to his condition sooner rather than later."

The lord turned, surveying her with an enigmatic look in his eye as his gaze swept over her plain homespun dress and mussed hair; she was suddenly reminded of her station.

He was fourth in line to the throne, and she was just some country girl who had more or less demanded that he allow her to play doctor. The fact that she was in the same room with him was a miracle in and of itself.

She flushed with embarrassment.

"That is, if Your Grace would allow my master and I the opportunity to choose the best course of treatment as quickly as possible," she amended hastily, bowing her head in submission as the Duke continued to watch her.

Her mother had warned her not to cross the nobility. As per usual, she was too busy being an insufferable, enthusiastic know-it-all to consider the immediate consequences of her actions.

She saw Slughorn's eyebrows shoot upwards out of the corner of her eye and she felt a stab of dread; she had already messed up.

_I'm going to be sent packing back to Ashwood before I've even had a chance to unpack my trunk-_

Just as she was beginning to panic, the Duke's expression softened and he nodded. With one long-fingered hand, he reached over to his desk and rang a large bell. The sound shattered the sudden silence in the study as the two tones faded away.

They were left waiting for less than a minute before the doors swung open and two burly guards strode into the room, carrying a struggling young man between them.

The young lord fought to free his arms from their iron grips, yelling and cursing at them as he was frog-marched into the room where they stood, shocked into silence by his outburst.

Hermione couldn't see his face, but his language certainly was colourful. She stood in admiring silence as he cursed in six languages and made up for not knowing more by throwing himself at the English curses with extra enthusiasm. Several of the words that he used were enough to make her blush, and she had to look away with embarrassment.

"Get off of me, you foul, unworthy-"

"I present you to my son. This is Draco Malfoy, the ninth Earl of Sussex, fifth in line for the throne of England. Draco, this is Lord Slughorn's new apprentice, Hermione Granger," Lucius said smoothly, ignoring his heir, who was still hissing and spitting like an angry cat.

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or start crying.  _I have my work cut out for me._

At the Duke's nonverbal command, the guards released the young Earl, leaving him to fall on his hands and knees. Hermione resisted the urge to help him up; she didn't know what he was likely to do if he felt the touch of hands, whether or not they were extended in friendship.

She did, however, catch a glimpse of his handsome face as he stood up, brushing off his clothes and attempting to regain some dignity as he glared at his father.

_Oh._

"I was in the middle of a match," he growled, crossing his arms across his brilliant white shirt. The sleeves billowed out across his chest, making him look every inch the spoiled lord that he was. "Your lackeys grabbed me like a common criminal!"

"You have more important things to concern yourself with," Lucius answered, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I don't care about your tennis match."

Hermione snuck a glance at Slughorn. He looked about as uncomfortable as she was; it felt like she was intruding on a private conversation between a father and his son.

"You had me kidnapped to introduce me to some peasant girl? Ridiculous," he scoffed, tossing his hair out of his eyes as he stood up straight.

He stared at his father defiantly, prompting Hermione's eyebrow to rise; he had guts.

"Your mother accepts your behaviour, I shan't stand for it. You will treat your doctors with respect; they are here for the sole purpose of your health."

The Duke's tone was dangerously quiet, and Hermione felt her shoulders compressing downwards as she fought the urge to leave the room.

She hated confrontation, and she hated it even more when she was the subject of an argument.

Hermione's eyes raked over Draco, taking in his white-blond hair, his grey eyes, and his lean, athletic build.

Unbidden, a small flush rose into her cheeks as she took in the sight of him, mussed and rosy-cheeked from exertion; she had to admit that he looked very dashing. He caught sight of her staring, and before she could curtsy, his lip curled.

His handsome face twisted into a mocking sneer as he blatantly appraised her, judging every inch of her appearance. Once again, Hermione was reminded of her station. Silently, she promised herself that she would make sure to never again look this frumpy in the presence of the Duke or his son.

She couldn't explain it, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. She wracked her brain for the answer, but found that her thoughts came to a screeching halt as a shadow of silver flickered across his irises.

Her stomach dropped and her blood ran cold as she recognized the look in his eye.

His gaze was filled with so much raw hatred that she felt sick. Her heart pumped frantically in her chest as her instincts sent a flood of adrenaline through her veins.

_No, it can't be!_


	5. Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds something about about Slughorn that ignites her curiosity. Without her realizing it, she begins to use a little bit of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to update this fic. There are a couple of reasons for that:  
> 1) I have three other fics on the go (it's my own damn fault)  
> 2) I don't know if I've mentioned this before on AO3, but I'm a linguist, so I'm actually con-langing a full, workable language for this fic (yay for immersion!) and it's taking a while! (Tolkien, eat my socks.) 
> 
> SO, I should actually have two of those fics that I'm currently writing wrapping up very shortly. The other two will be my babies for the forseeable future. As always, thank you so much for your love and support! The kudos/comments/subscriptions are the validation chips that keep this little writing machine chugging. I hope you enjoy this chapter. ;) xx

As soon as it had appeared, the flash of silver was gone. Hermione's heartbeat thundered in her ears as Draco regarded her with the same disdain that she'd expect of a particularly disgusting insect. The silence between them was deafening; she finally managed to regain her senses and look away.

He seemed to take her breaking of eye contact as a victory. Lucius' expression was stormy as he regarded his son, however he held his tongue. Hermione was silently grateful that he didn't intervene on her behalf; it suited her just fine to avoid making an enemy of the Earl.

She was shocked out of her dark thoughts by Slughorn's loud harrumph. "Master Draco, I'll thank you not to bully my apprentice," he said firmly, raising his eyebrow and fixing Draco with a disapproving stare. "She's improving your chances of recovery. An apology is owed to the lady."

"She's no lady-" Draco began, still regarding her with no small measure of condescension. "-And for the last time, I'm  _not_ ill-"

"That's enough," Lucius interjected, placing his hands on his desk and glaring at his son. "This introduction has not gone to plan. My greatest apologies, Miss Granger. My son will be making reparations for his behavior. Go, Draco, before you embarrass me further."

The glare that Draco threw at Hermione could have melted glass. She flinched, taking two steps backwards without conscious thought.

Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the room, somehow managing to retain his regal bearing, even though his shirt was torn and his boots were covered in mud.

Hermione let out a long breath as he left, trying to calm her racing heart; the sharp staccato of it pounding against her rib cage made her feel quite faint. "Thank you, Your Grace."

The Duke regarded them with solemn eyes, and she could have sworn that his eyes shone with emotion as he paced towards one of his magnificent bookshelves.

"I'm afraid that I have several matters to attend to this evening. You're dismissed."

Bowing deeply, Slughorn gently towed Hermione from the room. She was relieved that they were allowed to leave. After her disastrous first meeting with the Earl, she wanted to tuck tail and run away as fast as she could. Her palms were still clammy, and all that she wanted to do was hide away with a book.

"Come along, Hermione," Slughorn said brusquely, striding down the corridor and opening a small door. They descended down several winding staircases, up nine others and finally entered the rooms where she assumed that Slughorn tended to his patients. She hadn't realized that they were in a tower, and she gratefully peered out of the beautiful stained glass windows in the main study.

"This is where you work?" She asked quietly, mesmerized by the beauty of the carved wood furnishings and richly panelled walls.

"Yes, you'll be working in here," Slughorn replied distractedly, bustling around the room and gathering several large books into his arms. "Are you well enough to begin work immediately?" 

She didn't even think before she responded.  "Yes, of course.  How can I help?"

"I need an infusion of powdered asphodel and wormwood, the mortar and pestle are on that shelf."

Comforted by his manner (he reminded her of her father), she pulled out the indicated equipment and quickly found the herbs that he'd requested. She made a mental note to peruse his shelves; there were dozens of medicines and powders that she'd never seen before, or even heard of. Without being prompted, she began to grind the requested herbs into a paste, her eyes watering from the fumes of the pungent roots.

Slughorn bustled past her at one point, and she lifted the pestle out of the mortar so that he could inspect her work; he seemed to be pleased. He hurriedly placed a list and a set of directions on the table beside her and left her to finish the medicine. She was more than happy to sit and grind the mixture; it allowed her to think.

The doctor began to hum softly as he worked, putting the end of a quill between his teeth as he researched in his many medical volumes. At his request, she added more herbs to her concoction, mentally reciting their uses.

_Echinacea, hmm, he's probably using that to fight an illness of the blood? Infection doesn't seem likely, but his personality change was so drastic that I suppose it's an option. Elderberry is common, good for swelling. I think his pride is the only thing that's bruised, but it can't hurt. I've mixed in honey, for a disinfectant, catnip for stress relief, and huckleberries for strength against any further illness._

_I've never heard of wormwood or asphodel, but if Horace is using them, they're likely to be powerful plants_ , she though distractedly, using a spoon to finish the mixture and inspecting the green sludge with a critical eye. She was tempted to taste it, but then thought better of it and added a few extra spoonfuls of honey. Given the smell of the concoction, she thought that the Earl at least deserved a palatable medicine; it didn't really matter what she thought of him.

_He shouldn't have to taste something that smells like cat sick._

"He may be a miserable, cocky, sodden toe-rag, but he's a patient, so you're going to treat him with respect," she told herself firmly, realizing too late that she'd been thinking aloud. Slughorn looked up from his books and surveyed her over the thick reading spectacles that he was wearing. She expected a stern rebuke, but he simply chuckled and gestured for her to bring the medicine over to him for his inspection.

"Well, how did you find working with my herbs?" He asked, his eye twinkling. She smiled, shrugging and crossing her arms. "Most of them are familiar to me, but the-"

"Wormwood and asphodel, yes, I thought that they might be new. I would be shocked if you had seen them before. I had them brought in from Italy, dreadfully expensive to obtain you know, but I find that they are the most potent sleep drug I've found in my many years of study."

Hermione was intensely grateful that she hadn't tasted the mixture. "Forgive my many questions, but why are we drugging the Earl?"

"You wouldn't welcome eight hours of peace and quiet?" He replied, chuckling at the shocked look that crossed over her face before she was able to rearrange her features into one of polite interest. "My most productive hours of the day are when he's knocked out cold."

"Ah," was all that she could think of to say.

"All in jest, Hermione, I assure you. The Earl has been suffering from severe insomnia, he has next to no chance of recovery if his body isn't given a chance to recuperate," Slughorn said jovially, inspecting her work and nodding with approval. "Very well done. The honey is a nice touch. I'll be sure to mention that to young Draco when I administer the medicine."

Hermione blushed at the praise, looking away with embarrassment. "I've had a lot of practice."

"It is excellent, truly excellent," he muttered, carefully pouring the green goo into a small jar with a golden lid and clasp. "You are free to spend the rest of the day as you choose-"

"Can I peruse your library?" She asked immediately, clapping a hand over her mouth as she flushed with shame; it wasn't a good look to constantly interrupt her teacher.

He nodded, his eyebrows shooting upwards and his moustache rustling. "Of course. I keep my most interesting books in that room."

He indicated a small reading nook to her left that housed the most ancient books in his collection. "You're welcome to read any volume that you choose, but be warned, some of them have a bit of bite to them," he added cryptically, bustling out of his rooms with a wink and a smile.

Hermione decided that she was going to have to devote some time trying to figure him out. Every time she thought that she had his personality pinned down, he would do something that reminded her of Father Albus, and she'd have to start all over again.

Hermione watched him go, still trying to sift through the confusing myriad of emotions that she felt. Now that she was alone, she needed to try and figure out how she was going to survive at court.

Firstly, she knew that the Earl was a lost cause; he clearly didn't think that she was worth the dirt that he trod upon, which was just fine with her. It was easier to hate him outright than to admit that she'd found him very good-looking. His personality certainly knocked him down several notches, as far as she was concerned. Anyone who walked around looking like they'd smelled something foul didn't do their looks any favors.

She was slightly offended that he'd treated her with such disrespect, but she also knew that she was out of her league. Draco Malfoy was far too important in the grand scheme of things to pay any attention to the peasants who were only around to see to his every need.

_It's not my fault that he's such a tosser_ , she decided firmly, inspecting the shelves in Slughorn's library.

Secondly, the Duke seemed to care very deeply for his son, which was something that intrigued her. She didn't have any experience with nobility, but her books on etiquette had certainly not shied away from mentioning that there was often a severe disconnect between young nobles and their parents.

Thirdly, she was annoyed at Father Albus.  _He could have told me sooner about Lord Draco. I feel as if I've been caught flat-footed._

Her thoughts were interrupted as she accidentally gave herself a large and nasty paper cut as she absentmindedly flipped through a large book that looked to be bound with deerskin. She hurriedly stuck her thumb in her mouth, tasting the iron tang of her blood as she flipped the book over to reveal the title embossed on the front page.

" _The Monster Book of Monsters_?" She read aloud, her brow furrowing in confusion. She laughed suddenly, inspecting her cut and re-shelving the book. "Horace did say that some of the books might bite. How ironic-"

She'd caught sight of several of the other book spines, and it took her a moment to recover from her shock.

She took a moment to scan over the titles on the shelf in front of her, steadily growing more confused by the second. Apparently, her new teacher had a vested interest in the occult. Hermione felt a flicker of fear wind into her veins as she realized what she was looking at.

_"Deciphering Demons"_

_"The Patterns of the Damned: Practices of Magyck"_

_"Water, Fyre, and Earth Magyck"_

Horace Slughorn either had a very poorly kept secret, or he had a passion for books that were better left unread. Despite her instincts screaming at her that it was a terrible idea, she picked a book at random from the shelves. Her rabid curiosity overrode any of her hesitation; if the court mediker had these books out for display, surely there was nothing wrong with her reading through them?

It's not like she was going to do anything with the knowledge nestled within the pages of these books.  _They're nonsense and superstitious drivel_ , she told herself, trying her hardest to believe what she was saying.  _No one in their right mind would write anything about magic that could actually be used by someone who is cursed like me. Cursed or not, you're not a witch, or a wiccan._

The book opened easily, cracking open to a page that featured a beautifully illustrated woman standing on the surface of a pool of water. Hermione didn't even notice that she'd sunk to the floor; she was too absorbed in her reading.

_"Pagan rituals, often the basis for modern, civilized holidays, draw their supposed power from the elements. Those are, but not limited to, earth, air, fyre, water, and the spirit. One should not begrudge the worship of the spirit; however any of the other so-called "divine" elements are a mockery of faith."_

Hermione let out an unladylike snort as she read; clearly the author didn't think particularly highly of the ancient pagans. She continued to read, her fear and anxiety ebbing away as she threw herself into research.

" _Magyk in this sense is used for wicked deeds. Only a wytch would stand unclothed in the light of the moon and offer her soul to a silver-tongued devil. These creatures are summoned by moonlight and desperation; their only purpose is to obtain that which its victim holds most dear. The wishes that they grant always come with a nasty price. Naturally, such stories are pure hogwash, but nevertheless, one should be warned of them."_

Hermione's heartbeat quickened as she read over the last sentence on the page, thinking back to her own experience in the woods. Silver-tongued was a good way to describe a fae. She flipped back to the front of the book, searching for the name of the author.

"Nicholas Flamel," she murmured, tapping her finger in thought against the binding of the book. "How do you know so much?"

She continued to read, growing more and more interested in the subject of the occult as she devoured book after book. After she'd denied her curiosity for so long, it felt indescribably good to be able to learn about the one thing that she feared above all else. Hermione told herself that she was only trying to learn how to get herself out of the curse that had been cast upon her, but it was far more than that.

She would do it in secret, but she was going to find every last shred of information that she could about the fae.

If she understood her enemy, she could destroy it.

She only looked up from her reading as the sun dipped below the trees, her eyes aching from straining to read in the dark. Reluctantly, Hermione replaced the tome that she'd been reading ( _Creatures of the Orient: A Study in Dragon Lore_ ) and made her way through the semi-darkness towards the door. She peered out into the hallway, relieved to see a scullery maid walking past.

"Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry to bother you. I'm Master Slughorn's new student, I was wondering if you could direct me to my room?" She asked, suddenly struck with an uncharacteristic shyness.

It didn't help that the girl looked her up and down and then scrunched her face into an expression that could only mean one thing; Hermione was an inconvenience. "I'll take you."

"Thank you," Hermione replied gratefully, fighting down the urge to roll her eyes as the maid turned on her heel with a huff and stomped back the way that she had come, her messy braids flying as she bustled down the nine flights of stairs that had led to the tower.

Hermione had to struggle to keep up, partly because she didn't know her way around, and partly because there were only torch sconces every twenty feet. She also suspected that the maid wouldn't be too upset if Hermione happened to get lost.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a large wooden door, and Hermione thanked the grumpy girl. The maid was already out of sight.

Hermione turned the door handle, suddenly absolutely exhausted. Between the events of the last several hours and three days with little sleep, she was knackered.

She fell asleep on the straw-packed bed, still fully clothed, and with her shoes still on.

* * *

A breeze picked up, sending a flutter of leaves across the calm surface of the pond where she stood. Ripples radiated out from their points of contact, and she found herself mesmerized by the shimmering water. Images rose to the surface unbidden as she watched. She saw strange things reflected in the liquid, flickering and moving like candlelight.

_Bright green eyes peering at her around a doorway, a flash of fire burning through a house with a thatched roof, and a snake, twining itself around the arm of a man with skin so pale that he almost glowed._

Her own face swam beneath the water, but it wasn't quite right. The woman under the water was transparent and glowing with blue light. A huge, muscular tail flicked out behind the creature, making Hermione's eyes widen. _That's not me._

She could have sworn that she heard drums, pulsing to the frantic beating of her heart.

The strange being that looked like Hermione opened her mouth, but no air bubbles came out. Hermione checked to make sure that she was still breathing.

She suddenly heard her voice coming from beneath the surface of the water, disembodied and distorted as the sound waves traveled through the liquid silver of the pond. A shiver ran down the length of her spine as she processed what the apparition was saying. She dropped to her knees, straining to hear what the strangely beautiful selkie-like creature said.

_"Beware the man who does not fear the shattering of that which is immortal,"_ the voice whispered, croaking out a warning.  _"Beware the hollow-hearted man."_

Hermione had to look away from the shining water with a gasp of pain, throwing her hand up to her eyes, which had begun to throb like she had looked directly at the sun for too long. She fought to catch her breath, wiping tears from her face.  _I didn't know that I was crying_ , she thought with some confusion, finally daring to dart a glance back at the surface of the water.  _What on earth was that?_

It was calm and still like glass once more, and she relaxed slightly. The breeze returned, rustling through her hair and bringing with it the warm scent of cinnamon. This was a dream, she had nothing to fear. Strange things happened all the time. None of it was real. She stood up, looking around her at the dreamscape. All was well.

She took a deep breath, reveling in the spiced air, angling her head back to look at the giant moon-

_Cinnamon._

She stiffened, whirling to look behind her as the scent intensified, overwhelming her senses and making her dizzy. Her heart leapt into her throat as she realized what she was seeing.

The fae watched her calmly from the lip of the pond, his beautiful features glowing in the light of the full moon. He seemed to take amusement from her terror, and he reached out one long-fingered hand and lazily tapped the surface of the water, freezing it instantly.

Hermione couldn't move.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up!_  She chanted silently, unable to speak as he stood up and stepped towards her, his diamond skin shimmering.

"Hello, Hermione," he murmured, stopping ten paces from her and surveying her with his ancient eyes.

_Stay away from me!_

"It's past time when we should have had a chat. It appears that you're using magic accidentally now. Not bad, for a human."

_I just read about it! I didn't do anything wrong!_

His lip curled at his last statement, every single one of his words dripping with derision. She bristled at his casual dismissal of her kind, and she crossed her arms, breaking her stupor. "What does that mean?"

He looked at her like she was an idiot. "You were scrying. How typical, you don't even know what you can do with your gift."

"It's not a gift," she snarled, fighting to get free of the ice that bound her to the surface of the pond. "It's a curse, and I wasn't scrying! I don't even know what that is!"

"Liar. You're oddly stubborn, even for a  _ma'helb'eha_."

He breathed the foreign word in a language that was both musical and cruel. Hermione shivered, knowing full well that he'd used his own tongue to describe her kind. She doubted that the translation was flattering.

"What..?"

He raised an eyebrow, his dark expression softening slightly. "You're ungrateful. But I'm impressed with your refusal to submit to my call."

It was her turn to look at him like he was an idiot. Her fear had been replaced by hatred, and it fueled her ability to ignore the silvery sound of his voice. She knew better than to let herself get drawn in.

"You didn't call me anywhere, I've never returned to the woods."

"Of course I did. I don't usually need to pull humans back to the forest; it's unusual to be able to resist fae dreams. Most of your kind would have begged for mercy by now."

She knew exactly what kind of dreams he was talking about. "You're the reason for the nightmares."

"Obviously," he muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at her. It was the most human gesture she'd seen from him. "Perhaps it's time to try a different tactic."

"What, are you going to kill me?" She demanded, adrenaline spiking in her veins as she fought to free herself from the ice that still trapped her feet. She was so anxious to get out that she didn't even notice that the ice didn't freeze or burn her skin from the cold.

Apparently the fae just wanted to talk.

"No. As much as I'd like to, killing you won't fix my problem," he drawled, looking at her through his sooty eyelashes. "That would be too easy."

"Then what do you  _want_?!" She hated the note of panic that bled into her voice, and she fought to stop her body from trembling as he stepped closer. "I'm not giving up my soul."

He didn't respond for a moment, just watched her with narrowed eyes. "I don't want it. I'm proposing a different kind of deal."

A bitter laugh flew out of her lips as she redoubled her efforts to break free. "I'm never taking another deal from you-"

"Shut up and listen," he hissed, stepping closer to her. She was overwhelmed with the scent of cinnamon and musk, and she had to fight to concentrate. "I'm trapped, same as you. You didn't complete your end of the bargain and now I'm paying for it."

"What does that mean?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly searching for calm. "It means, you _stupid_ human, that I don't have control over my magic until you finish what you started."

She didn't answer, too confused to come up with a response.

"I'll spell it out for you," he continued, pacing back and forth in front of her. "You stole the magic that I can use in the human world. I can't get back to the Seelie realm until I get it back, understood? You shattered the natural order, and now I'm stuck in this shithole of a dimension."

"How is that possible..?" She whispered, frightened by the fact that she may have doomed this beautiful creature. "You're not human."

"Astute, aren't you. I can't sustain myself in this world without  _my_  magic, so I had to make another deal," he continued, his eyes alight with fury as he whirled to face her.

"But you can't leave a circle," she started, her eyes narrowing, "You were trapped in there, that's why you couldn't-"

"Correct. I used the last of my power to lure some idiot lordling to me."

She hated how casually he spoke the words, as if that young man's life had meant nothing. "But I summoned you outside of Ashwood. We're in Sussex-"

He laughed, cold and cruel. "You honestly think that I can't travel to and from any circle that I choose?"

_That doesn't explain-wait!_

"You took over the young man's body. You can leave the circle as a human," Hermione whispered, finally cluing in. "You have to generate magic another way. You're the reason that the Duke's son is ill! I knew it!"

"He's not ill," he snapped, his eyes glinting like shards of diamond in the moonlight. "The boy wanted a different kind of life, so we made a trade. He's now a happy blacksmith in Scotland, and I got out. His body is weak, but it will do for now."

"So he's not ill, and you're just trying to get back to your home," Hermione said slowly, still unsure. Her quick mind whirred, warning her not to trust him.

"Finally, you're catching on," he muttered, glancing over at her as he began to pace once more. "Earth magic is different than the kind of magic that I can generate in the Seelie realm. It's powerful in its own way, but it's not enough to send me back. Trinkets, small favors, they sustain me."

"How?"

"I take my payment and gain some more time. Every deal gets me closer to power that I can use. No thanks to you," he said waspishly, glaring at her. She was too busy thinking to notice.

"That's why you've been going to brothels and gambling dens," Hermione breathed, thinking hard. Her terror was forgotten, replaced by avid curiosity. "You're making deals."

"Desperate humans make desperate wishes," he confirmed, leaning closer to her. He was so close that she could see flecks of pure silver in his shining eyes. "If you find a way to get me back home, you can keep your power. I'm amending our deal."

"How? I don't know anything about magic!"

He made a small sound of derision, waving his hand at the pond. "Clearly you do. Figure out how to use the magic that you stole. You wanted knowledge,  _find_ it."

She didn't respond for a moment, her mind whirring over what was happening. "If I take this deal, you'll stop tormenting me? You'll let me go once I free you?"

"Yes."

"Swear it," she demanded, not stupid enough to trust him. "How do I know that you're not lying to me?"

He laughed, the sound ringing through the air like bells. She fought down a shiver as he stepped closer to her.

"Do you think that you have the moral high ground here, oathbreaker?" He purred, his voice deepening.

She felt her pulse hammering in her chest, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. He raised his cool hand and laid it over her collarbone, murmuring something that sounded like a wind chime. She could feel the slight warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of her nightgown, but she wasn't afraid. The thought of a man touching her like this should have sent her screaming into the night, but this was different.

It was a ritual.

Besides, he needed her alive.

Hermione felt her body tensing as taut as a bowstring as he leaned down and whispered something in her ear.

" _So'el carð e'elme_ _ɫ jaema_ _,_ " he murmured. " _Gwaeð, undaið, ðes'ka, ðunj'a'a, saet'nae'_."  _  
_

She felt his promise ripple through her skin, reacting to something ancient in her blood.

_I swear it by the sun and the moon's light, by the earth and the flame; I forge my promise from starlight and bitter iron._

The language that he used once again wasn't human. It sounded like trickling water and rustling leaves, and she felt her body relaxing at the sound. It spoke to something within her that she wasn't aware existed; it was a promise and an oath.

He finally stepped away, leaving her with hazy eyes and a woozy mind. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she hurriedly closed her mouth; her lips had parted as a sigh left her body.

"Fae can't lie," he said cryptically, waving a hand and defrosting the ice that trapped her on the surface of the pond. "Our new bargain is struck. You know my name now, use it wisely."

She didn't even have enough rational thought left to force a response. He smirked, suddenly looking an awful lot like the handsome man whose body he'd bargained for. "Oh, and by the way, Draco had a little bit of fae magic in him to start with. I won't remember who you are or our deal unless the moon is out."

"What?!"

"Let's think of it as payback," he murmured, mirth glinting in his silver eyes. "I can't make it too easy for you, can I? You've made my life hell, it's time you worked to earn my forgiveness."

"That's not fair!" She argued hotly, stepping towards him.

"Goodnight, Hermione. Hold your breath."

_Huh?_

He turned on his heel, striding away into the rapidly darkening dreamscape. Just before he melted away into the darkness, he turned and lazily flicked his hand out towards the pond where she was still standing, frozen.

Hermione caught a split second of his striking features before he disappeared and she plunged into the frigid water.


	6. Honeycomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione reels from the aftermath of her dream. She finds something hidden in Slughorn's library that tears apart everything that she thought that she knew about her bargain with the fae.

**A/N: Hello everyone!  I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to update.  Just a couple of things before you read the chapter:**

**1.  I know that Hagrid isn't Scottish, but I haven't planned to have giants in this world, so an exceedingly large Highlander is the next best thing (you should see the size of my cousins)! Also, that accounts for the way that he's treated by the nobility, as you will find out in the next chapters.**

**2.  Also, I unfortunately won't be able to update for a next few weeks, potentially a month.  I'll be travelling during that time and won't have my laptop with me.  However, I'll still be writing the good-old fashioned way, so more content is absolutely coming along.**

**As always, thank you so much for your support as I bumble through this story.  It means the world to me! :) xx**

* * *

 

Hermione's eyes snapped open and she let out a trembling breath.  She was cold, and _wet_?  She sat up gingerly, realizing with no small measure of shock that she was outside, in the gardens of the Duke's palace. 

She was soaked through, completely covered in dew.  Beside her lay the pond from her dream, surrounded by lavishly pruned trees and marble walkways.  Her chest rose and fell with frantic breaths as she stared up at the full moon above her, still too confused and frightened to think properly.  

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking everywhere for the damned fae.  She suspected that this was his doing.  If she hadn't been half-frozen, she might have laughed at the prank. 

There was something sinister about this place, but she couldn't put her finger on it. 

_Knowing what that creature’s capable of, you might still be in a dream._

The thought sent a bolt of pure fear shooting through her veins.  He’d promised not to hurt her, but he hadn’t promised that he would be kind. 

Gingerly, she reached out and touched the surface of the perfectly still pond water, breathing a gasp of surprise and relief as her hand slid straight through the surface; there was no magic here.  Her face loomed into view as she peered into the mere; she grimaced as her reflection exhibited her mess of curls and brightly flushed face.  

To her great relief, she was still fully clothed, but that certainly didn't ease her concern.  The fact that she had somehow ended up here without her knowledge was disconcerting, to say the least.  

"How did I get out here?"  She asked herself softly, trying to breathe deeply and dissuade the panic that threatened to rise up out of her stomach.  Her mind flashed back to her dream and her stomach flip flopped uncomfortably.  

_I just accepted a new deal._ She snuck another glance up at the moon, remembering what the fae had promised her.   _I get my freedom as soon as I get him his.  But how in the hell am I going to do that?!  What kind of a dream was that?  It wasn't quite a nightmare, but it wasn't pleasant either._

She let out a strangled groan of frustration as she forced her cold limbs to move, walking unsteadily on numb legs back towards the palace.  She kept up a solid string of curses as she walked, her irritation keeping her warm as she strode up a side staircase.  The slap of her bare feet on the stone of the hallways only fueled her irritation.

Her mind whirred, trying to wring every last ounce of logic out of her strange half-dream; the fae had said that she now knew his name.  Names held power.  Names could be used to weave a trap that could guarantee her freedom. 

_That could be useful.  I just have to figure out what the damn word is and how to use it_ , she thought grumpily, trying to navigate her way back to her little room.  It took her nearly an hour, but she finally found it.  

She used a torch from the corridor to light a small piece of kindling that she'd pulled from the bunch, lighting a small candle that she'd found on the side table in her room.  Now that she could see it, it was reasonably roomy and had a small fireplace in one corner.  She made a mental note to thank the good doctor for his generosity.  

She settled onto her bed with a sigh, thinking hard.  There was no way that she could sleep now, knowing that she hadn't succeeded in running away from the fae.  

She tapped her fingers nervously on her knees, trying to decipher the confusing mixture of emotions that swirled within her.  Hermione fought to ignore the fact that a large piece of that emotional tangle was guilt.  _He might be a cruel, awful creature, but it's my fault that he's stuck here._

She flopped onto her back with a groan, trying to reconcile her guilt over the situation with how she felt about the fae.  She could easily isolate that a large portion was also fear; she was flirting with death by even considering helping him.  A flicker of excitement bloomed in her chest as she considered the possibility of what he said; she could do  _magic_. 

_Wait, what?  Hermione, what are you_  doing _?!_

She let out a soft sound that was half a laugh and half a sob.  Here she was, stuck in some sort of strange, half-correct fairy tale, entirely of her own design.  

"All of this confusion, because of some sort of stupid dream?"  She demanded, shaking her head furiously and trying to punch down her rioting thoughts.  

_It's not real.  This whole thing isn't real.  Draco Malfoy happens to look a little bit like that creature from the woods and now you're dreaming that he needs you to save his life?  Clearly, I should never have read that epic poem that Ginny lent me before I left home._

"Hermione Granger, you are here to learn.  You had a strange dream, and you learned that you can sleepwalk.  That's it. Now, you are going to go to bed, and you are going to throw yourself into your studies."  

When she talked to herself like that, she almost believed the words.  And so, with a sigh, she undressed and put on her nightgown.  As she snuggled under the covers, she told herself one last time that she had only had a strange dream.  

She blew out the candle with another big sigh. 

Dreams didn't mean anything.  

Dawn swept in with absolutely no warning.  Hermione was startled awake by the sound of thundering footsteps above her little room.  She lay in the dark for a moment, slightly panicked because she had completely forgotten where she was.  She very nearly jumped a foot in the air as the door to her room suddenly weathered an enormous, authoritative knock. 

She hurriedly sat up and shrugged into a thick overrobe of warm wool, frantically trying to smooth her hair down.  She fumbled in the dark for the lock and opened the door a crack.

“Hello..?”  Hermione said hesitantly, still feeling extremely discombobulated by her rude awakening.

“Ah, good mornin’ Miss,” came a rumbled reply.   All that she could see in the bright morning sunlight that streamed in from a nearby window was a humongous, dark beard.  Her gaze widened as she opened the door a little more.  The beard was attached to the largest man that she had ever seen, and she smothered a tiny gasp.

_He’s got to be a giant!_

“Well now, don’t tell me ye’ve never seen a Highlander before,” the giant chuckled; his dark eyes twinkled merrily at her flabbergasted expression. 

“I-I ,uh, well unfortunately I haven’t had the pleasure,” she mumbled weakly, her own expression breaking out into a shy smile as he presented her with a large, steaming bun wrapped in a handkerchief the size of a wimple. 

“I’m sorry to startle ye,” he continued, nodding encouragingly as she took it.  “Master Slughorn felt I should be givin’ you a tour of the grounds.  Pleased to make yer acquaintance.  The name is Rubeus Hagrid.”

“You’re the gameskeeper!”  She exclaimed, sighing happily as she took a large bite of the warm bread.  It was delicious, and she eagerly took another, and another.  She hadn’t eaten since the she and Father Albus had taken a small break to picnic the day previously; she was ravenous. 

“Aye, I am.” 

Slughorn’s letters had mentioned the grounds keeper; he’d made a point to tell her that he was going to be a very useful resource for the court’s physiker.  Hermione had completely forgotten that she was scheduled to spend some time learning about the court and the plants that grew around the castle. 

She would be in charge of running errands and fetching ingredients for medicine as well, so it was crucial that she knew her way.   However, Slughorn had neglected to mention the man’s stature, and she suspected that he would have a good chuckle at her expense when Hagrid’s description of their first meeting was relayed to him. 

Idly, she wondered if Father Albus knew about Slughorn’s little joke.  As far as pranks went, it was quite innocent, and so she settled on feeling amused about the whole thing.  Besides, she had bread, and that meant that she was going to be in quite a good mood until she’d finished inhaling her breakfast. 

She’d barely finished that thought when another steaming bun was suddenly presented to her.  She looked up in surprise as Hagrid smiled gently, brandishing the second roll.   That’s when she noticed that his large coat had tiny pockets sown all over it; if she had one like that, she could easily be a walking apothecary. 

The thought made her smile as she accepted the food.

“I’ll give ye a moment to get dressed, and then we’ll take a walk about.  I’ll show ye where you’ll need to find your herbs and such,” he thundered, inclining his head gently at the fact that she was still wearing a large maroon overrobe over her nightgown. 

“Oh!  Bugger!”  She exclaimed, fleeing back inside her room, realizing too late that for one, she couldn’t’ see in the dark, and two, Hagrid apparently found it very amusing that she wasn’t above cursing so early in the morning. 

His chuckle boomed thought the crack between her door and the wall, and she quickly smothered her grin. 

_Ron would find this hilarious._

At the thought of her best friend, she felt a flash of homesickness.  It was with great effort that she forced herself to focus.  Now wasn’t the time to be melancholic.  She’d left for a reason, and she was going to learn everything that she could while she was at the Duke’s court.

With that being said, she silently vowed to never open her door again unless she was fully clothed.  That meant petticoats, a shift, full skirt, and cloak.  She could never feel embarrassed if she dressed like a nun. 

_A nun would never be caught dead out in the gardens at night in nothing but her nightgown_ , she thought grumpily, hurriedly fumbling around in the dark for her warmest dress.   Her hands finally scrabbled over some soft, thin fabric, and she shuffled it aside with a sigh; she wasn’t looking for a linen dress. 

Unbidden, her thoughts wandered towards Draco Malfoy and his torn blouse.  She had never seen a man in such a state before, and it was with some shame that she admitted to herself that her heartbeat had accelerated at the sight. 

_If I were home, and he wasn’t such an obnoxious prat, I might try my luck_ , she mused.  Her jaw dropped in horror when she realized that she was entertaining lewd thoughts about the _Duke’s ill son._  

She blushed furiously, reminding herself firmly that she wasn’t in Ashwood anymore. 

_I’ve already broken so many rules that it’s a miracle that I haven’t already been sent packing_ , she thought with a groan, turning her attention to relighting her candle.  Hermione felt a small smile light up her face as she strode to the door and stuck the small piece of wood that she’d used the night before to light her candle out of the gap. 

“I’m terribly sorry, I don’t have a window in here,” she began, noticing with some surprise that Hagrid didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.  He delicately plucked the piece of kindling out of her hand and was back in a few seconds; the top of the small stick sputtered brightly as she eased it back inside the room. 

“Thank you!”

“It wasn’t a trouble,” Hagrid replied, courteously waiting as she once again closed the door all of the way, however, this time she had a light.  She gently blew on the rapidly dying flame, coaxing it back to life and using it to light the end of her candle.  The wick finally caught alight, and she let out a long sigh.

She hadn’t considered that sighing with that much force would put her small candle out, and she swore anew as she relit it with the still glowing taper. 

She hurriedly dressed, smoothing her hair into a thick, intricate braid and blowing the candle out as she left.  As she closed the door, she finally got a good look at Hagrid. 

“Blimey,” she breathed, her face lighting up once more into a smile as she took in the sight of him.  “I imagine that the doorways aren’t convenient for you.”

“No, they are not,” he chuckled, leading her down a set of stairs that she’d stumbled up the night before, quickly emerging into the bright morning light.  Hermione blinked furiously and put a hand in front of her face to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight that already beat mercilessly against the stone of the keep.

“Miss Granger, the gardens are that way,” he boomed, pointing with his giant hand towards the western side of the keep.  “That’s where I’ll be takin’ ye first.”

“Call me Hermione, please,” she panted, smiling weakly as she struggled to control her breathing as they strode quickly across the grounds towards the upper keep. 

“All right, Hermione.  Mind the steps now, it gets a wee bit slippy with the dew,” he replied, his pace not slowing for a second as he tromped up a large set of beautifully carved stone steps. 

She smothered a groan.  It was hard enough walking across flat ground with the giant man, never mind trying to maintain his pace on an upwards path.   Setting her jaw, she forced herself to move; she was also trying to ignore the way that her stomach felt like it was full of bricks. 

_I never should have eaten that second bun._

She had to work very hard to keep up with Hagrid, trying to ignore the way that her breath puffed out of her lungs and her skirts kept getting in the way.  She determinedly dogged at his heels, gratefully slowing to a stop as he led her towards the kitchen gardens.  He casually returned the greetings of the many castle staff who called out their hellos, and it finally struck Hermione that he was doing her a big favor.  He pointed out all of the crops in turn, and she forced her tired brain to commit them to memory. 

“And _that_ is the potato garden.  Any questions yet, lass?”  He finished, glancing cheerily at her out of the corner of his eye.  “We nearly lost a whole crop last year.  The flobberworms were a problem.”

“No.  Thank you, sir,” she said quietly, lacing her fingers together and smiling shyly at the cheerful giant. 

“Why are ye thanking me..?”  Hagrid asked slowly, confusion written all over his jolly face. 

“You took the time to show me the around, and I know that you must be busy-“

“Hermione, I’m not a lord,” he rumbled, his rosy cheeks the only clue that he was affected by the cold.  “Ye don’t need to apologize for not knowin’ your way around.  I offered to help ye cause I know what it’s like to be an outsider here.”

Her cheeks pinked and she smiled.  “I appreciate it.”

“No need to be so formal,” he said gently, opening a large wooden fence with no effort.  Hermione’s eyes widened as he replaced the giant crossbar that sealed the area with ease.  She knew that she would never be able to lift that by herself, never mind with one hand. 

_Bloody hell.  I’m glad that he seems to be the gentle sort.  I’d hate to get on his bad side._

 “Can I ask you some frank questions, Mr. Rubeus?”

“Call me Hagrid.  I was wonderin’ when ye’d get to those,” he chuckled, waving one huge hand for her to go ahead as he fed chickens with a bucket that was the size of a small pond.  “Master Slughorn mentioned that ye be the curious sort.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Fifteen years by my count,” was the rumbled reply, slightly muffled by the sound of frantically flapping wings and indignant squawking from the chickens that fought over the feed that he generously threw out over the yard.

“So you’re well accustomed to the Duke’s family?”  She asked carefully, hoping that he would clue in to what she was asking.  To her great relief, he did. 

“Ah.  Ye’ve met our grand lord, have ye?”

“Are we talking about the Earl or the Duke?”  She asked quietly, looking around frantically to make sure that no one was eavesdropping. 

“Draco, of course.”

The name sounded exceedingly pleasant in his rumbling, Scottish burr, and Hermione found herself nodding conspiratorially as he turned his attention back to the frantically milling chickens. 

“I met him yesterday. He’s rather…spirited.” 

“The Earl hasn’t always been such an insufferable git,” Hagrid said casually, grinning into his beard as she smothered a surprised hoot of laughter.  His rolling accent made his words so much funnier; she was suddenly very glad that she’d met him.  She had a feeling that they would get along famously. 

She managed to turn her laugh into a cough instead, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as he launched another catapult-sized bucketful of feed into the chicken coop. 

“Do you have any advice?  I’m afraid that he’s already decided that he hates me,” she said mournfully, absentmindedly waving away two hens who had wandered over to her in the hopes that she would feed them.  “It doesn’t help that I’ve been assigned to help him with his…illness.”

“Don’t ye mind him, he’s all bark an’ no bite,” Hagrid rumbled, striding out of the enclosure to the neighbouring fenced area.  Hermione was taken aback by the sheer number of goats that milled about; they grazed on the remnants of what must have been a lush lawn in ages past. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” she muttered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and nearly jumping in surprise when he brandished a regular sized bucket at her. 

“Ye may think that he hates ye, but I hope ye’ll be pleased to know that he’s been treatin’ everyone he meets like a sackful o’ dung,” he replied, nodding encouragingly as she took the offered bucket. “Go ahead an’ feed the ladies; they’ll like ye.”

“How very charming,” she replied dryly, eyeing the goats with confidence.  She knew her way around bovids; her father had three.  Plus, she’d read a lot about domesticated animals.  In theory, they were easy to take care of. 

“He’s not a bad lad, once ye get past the attitude,” Hagrid rumbled, watching with satisfaction as she fed the goats with ease.  “Yer a strong lass, it’ll take time, but ye’ll have him back to polite soon enough.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, just in time to see him wink and turn away, striding purposefully towards yet another enclosure.  Hermione finished feeding the goats, and as soon as she was able to pry her cloak out of the mouth of a particularly enthusiastic nanny, she hurried after him. 

“There’s still more?  How large are the grounds?”  She asked with wonder, looking back over her shoulder at the rapidly shrinking keep behind them as they strode towards the forest that she’d passed through the day before. 

The sun was steadily creeping higher in the sky; by Hermione’s guess, they’d been touring the grounds for at least three hours.  Her legs agreed with her calculations; they were starting to cramp.   

“Dunno, they get bigger with every passin’ year,” Hagrid replied, waving a huge hand towards the final paddock.  “Here ye are, take a look at the pride and joy o’ the Duke of Sussex.”

Her jaw dropped as she took in the vision of the Duke’s horses.  The ground began to shake as the magnificent creatures saw Hagrid come striding over the hill.  The sound of their neighing and braying was startlingly loud, and she had to remind herself how to breathe as they thundered past, the ground rumbling under the force of their hooves. 

Hermione glanced over at Hagrid and felt her lips curling up into a grin as she caught sight of the look on his face.  He looked positively _gooey_ at the sight of the horses.  She turned back to the creatures, surprised to note that he wasn’t staring at the horses, but at the enormous woman astride the most beautiful stallion that she’d ever seen. 

The giantess dismounted smoothly, and Hermione caught several murmured words in French as the woman patted the stallion on the nose and strode towards them, her cloak flapping around her ankles as she cut a path through the morning dew. 

“Mornin’ Olympe,” Hagrid said gruffly, sinking into a sort of clumsy half bow as she got closer.  Hermione noticed with some delight that he’d produced a rose out of one of his many pockets.  She also noticed that he’d started to frantically pat down his explosive head of hair.

The look on his face was strangely reminiscent of an eager stableboy, and Hermione bobbed a quick curtsy, in awe of both this woman’s size and her effect on Hagrid. 

“Ah, ‘Agrid,” the woman murmured, her expression softening as she greeted them.  “You ‘ave cared for ze mounts most splendidly.  You ‘ave my thanks.  I was not expecting to be away so long.”

“It weren’t no trouble,” Hagrid rumbled, his cheeks pinking at the praise.  “How are ye?”

“Very well, thank you,” the giantess purred, turning her attention at last to Hermione.  “And who is zis charming little creature?”

Hermione fought to keep her expression neutral as the enormous woman inspected her; her expression wasn’t unkind, but she couldn’t help but feel that she was being judged quite thoroughly. 

“This is Hermione Granger, she’s Slughorn’s apprentice.”

“Welcome, mademoiselle,” Olympe said formally, her eyes twinkling as she smiled down at Hermione.  “You are welcome to visit ze horses anytime zat you like, I would welcome ze company.”

"Olympe is the stable master,"  Hagrid supplied helpfully, puffing up slightly as Olympe's attention returned to him.  "Ye won't find a finer horse master in all of Europe." 

“Thank you,” Hermione said gratefully; she loved to ride horses, and had already missed the exercise since she’d left home.  Hermes had been a stable presence in her life for years, and although she didn’t miss smelling of horse, there was something intensely comforting about a horse’s affections. 

Without realizing it, she had been staring at the stallion.  He was favouring his back left gaskin, she noticed with some surprise, and was standing slightly tilted to the right hand side. 

_Hm.  Perhaps he’s got an aggravated injury?  It doesn’t seem to be painful, but it must be uncomfortable if he’s standing like that._

“May I take a closer look at your mount?”

“Of course,” Olympe replied, stepping closer to Hagrid, much to his pleasure.  Although most of his face was covered by his impressive beard, what was visible was a vibrant shade of pink. 

Hermione glanced at Hagrid for permission, and as soon as he nodded at her encouragingly, she slowly made her way towards the huge animal.  She could see out of the corner of her eye that Hagrid had rather shyly presented Olympe with the rose, and the corners of her mouth ticked up into a smile as she heard soft French exclamations of delight in response to the gift. 

_I wonder if he wanted to see the horses, or if it was an excuse to see her?_

As she got closer, the stallion huffed at her.  She paused before narrowing her eyes at him and stepping forwards with more confidence.  He stared at her out of the corner of his eye, clearly unsure whether or not to trust her.  She put a slow, gentle hand out in front of her and eased forwards until her palm was nestled against his soft, warm nose.  His breath puffed out between her fingers, and she withdrew her hand slightly as he smelled her. 

Apparently, whatever he found was enough to satisfy his curiosity, and he nickered quietly and stepped closer to her.

He lipped gently at her sleeve as she murmured soft sounds of encouragement.  She sighed in relief as he allowed her to scratch his neck and smooth her fingers over his ears.  Up close, he was even larger than she’d thought; he was at least eighteen hands at the withers, and he was broad in the chest as well. 

His powerful breath puffed out of his chest, and she hummed contentedly as she rested her hand on his shoulder, breathing with him for a moment.  If she closed her eyes, it felt like she was home.  Hurriedly, she forced herself to think of other things than her homesickness and turned her attention to the matter at hand. 

_He’s got to be a warhorse_ , she thought smugly, grinning as he dipped his head, demanding more attention. 

“Why are you sore?”  She asked quietly, easing back to where he was standing oddly and inspecting the whole leg.  Hermione’s searching fingers quickly found a large knot of scar tissue halfway up the limb; it was cool to the touch and hard as a rock.  She’d been correct to assume that he’d survived an injury. 

“What happened to his leg?”  She called, noting with some satisfaction that Hagrid was openly impressed.  Olympe surveyed her with a flicker of respect, and Hermione knew that they hadn’t expected her to notice that the mount nursed a serious injury. 

“ ‘Ow did you know that ‘e was injured?”  Olympe asked curiously, striding closer to where Hermione stood. 

“He was standing strangely.  I’ve read quite a bit about horses,” Hermione admitted, her chest warming as Olympe surveyed her with a look that could only have been described as vaguely amused.  “He’s large enough to be a war horse, so I assume that he was injured in battle.” 

“You are correct,” Olympe murmured, fondly patting the stallion on the nose as he blew his lips out at her. 

“A tiff with the bloody, uh, the French about five years back did it,” Hagrid began, softening his tone immediately as Olympe threw him an exasperated look.  “Norbert used to be his Grace’s horse, but he’s mostly ridden by the Earl now.”

“He ‘as suffered a terrible spear wound to ze back leg, as you can see,” Olympe murmured, nodding at the spot where Hermione’s hand still rested.  “His Grace would not see ‘im put down, on account of ze Earl’s affection for ‘im.”

“So he’s Draco’s horse?  If you ask me, he doesn’t deserv-” Hermione asked quickly, realizing too late that she’d callously referred to the Earl by his Christian name, and coupled it with an insult to boot.  Olympe’s expression darkened slightly, and Hermione quickly corrected herself. 

“Pardon me; he’s ridden by the Earl?”

“Yes, however only for short distances,” Olympe said firmly, patting Norbert on the nose and swinging back into the saddle.  “You may visit ‘im if you like, ‘owever, I would not recommend that you tell his lordship that you are using ‘is mount.”

“Thank you.  That’s very kind.”

“E’ likes you,” was the curt reply.  Hermione knew immediately by Olympe’s tone that she had made a rather serious blunder in etiquette, and she mentally kicked herself.  She was forced to take a hurried step backwards as Norbert began to dance on the spot, clearly eager to be off. 

“That makes one of you,” Hermione murmured, a blush burning across her cheeks as Olympe nudged Norbert into a canter, thundering away across the pasture.  She couldn’t smother the groan that left her lips as her face scrunched up into an expression of utter mortification. 

“Don’t ye worry about her,” Hagrid rumbled, making no effort whatsoever to hide his grin.  “She’s very French.  She’ll be back to kindly soon enough.  I anger her quite regularly, and we’re still-“

He caught himself right before he said something incriminating, and Hermione couldn’t help her laugh as he suddenly came down with a fit of coughing, looking everywhere but at her. 

“What are ye laughin’ at, lass?”  He said with difficulty, his eyes tearing up from the coughing.  “We’re not quite done with the tour.”

Hermione resisted the urge to groan again, and she ran after him as he purposefully strode into the wooded area just beyond the horse enclosure. 

_This is going to be a long morning._

“Hagrid?”

“Aye?”

“Did you take me down this way to see the horses, or to see Olympe?”

“Yer a cheeky lass, aren’t ye.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hermione wheedled, grinning savagely at the still blushing Highlander. 

“Fine.  It was…both,” Hagrid finally admitted, looking every inch a schoolboy as a smile slid over his mouth.  “Aye, but she’s a sight on that horse.  Are ye familiar with thistle?”

“I am.  Yes, she definitely is,” Hermione agreed, noticing with pride that she was immediately able to pick out the plant that he was pointing at.  He hummed his agreement, and they resumed walking. 

The next two hours were spent wandering around the grounds searching for plants and mushrooms.  Hermione wasn’t even surprised to see that Hagrid had been carrying around a small basket in his amazing coat.  She had quickly filled it with a number of useful herbs and plants, and now she even carried a small jar with fresh honeycomb inside.  Finally, after they’d circled back around to the entrance where they’d exited that morning, Hagrid bade her farewell and wandered off, whistling cheerfully. 

She was already feeling as though she could make a home here.  Although she’d been there for less than a day, there was something about the greenery of the sprawling grounds that made her feel oddly relaxed.  She toyed absentmindedly with her metal pendant; her mind had wandered back to her dream. 

_I doubt that it was anything more than that, but I’m starting to wonder.  There’s too much that makes sense for it all to be nonsense.  Not to mention that the fae looks so much like Draco, I’m not sure what’s real and what’s a figment of my imagination.  If I can use magic, I’d better figure out how to use it quickly._

As she pondered, she came to the strange realization that she hadn’t thought of herself as an imposter in almost a full day.  That, in and of itself, was a small miracle, and that put a little bounce in her step as she climbed up a small set of worn steps that led up to where Slughorn’s tower rested. 

Hermione took a deep, calming breath before she entered the castle.  She trudged up to the tower where Slughorn kept his rooms, and was so startled when she came around a corner and almost ran smack dab into someone coming from the other way that she nearly dropped her basket. 

To her great shock and dismay, it was none other than Draco Malfoy himself. 

Her mind flashed back to her dream, and she bit back a shuddering breath of fright as he turned his attention to her.  She bobbed a quick curtsy, rapidly taking in the sight of his hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes as he stopped in his tracks and glared at her, his lip curling. 

“You’re in my way.”

“My apologies, my Lord,” she murmured, slowly bringing her gaze up to meet his.  His silver eyes flashed with irritation, and she was tempted to wither under his direct stare.   Her mouth dropped open in shock as his expression softened slightly and the corner of his mouth ticked up. 

“Jumpy, aren’t you?”  He murmured, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall as he surveyed her with ageless eyes. 

It wasn’t Draco. 

_Shit._   _Oh damn it all, the dream was real._

“You,” she breathed, backing up as fast as she could as he let out a soft, melodious chuckle.  He followed her, leaning one arm against the wall as her back hit the stone.  Her breath came faster, and she could feel a small bead of cold sweat slide down her spine as he stepped closer.  “How is it possible-“

“The moon’s still out,” he said bluntly, his rapidly-lightening eyes glimmering as he directed her gaze out of the nearest stained-glass window.  Sure enough, the moon was still barely visible in the bright mid-morning sun. 

“You promised not to hurt me,” Hermione reminded him with difficulty, trying to ignore her instincts to bolt.  She knew that he would catch her; it was better to find out what he wanted now and get it over with. 

“I’m not interested in that, _ma'helb'eha_ _,”_ he said softly, his tone dripping with derision.  “I thought you’d be relieved to know that I don’t want your soul anymore.  Make up your mind.”

“What the hell does _ma'helb'eha_ mean?” Hermione demanded, hating the way that the word croaked strangely out of her mouth.  “If I’m going to help you, I’d prefer it if you didn’t insult me at every turn.”

Her mind whirred.  She was torn between throwing herself down the stairs in an attempt to escape and staying to listen to what Draco had to say.  Her morbid curiosity kept her rooted to the spot, despite her instincts screaming at her to dart down the steps and out into the forest as fast as she could. 

He made a sound that reminded her of rustling leaves.  “The easiest translation isn’t kind, you’re correct.”

“Spit it out.”

“It means “mudblood”,” he said firmly, his eyes narrowing at her as she bristled.  “It’s well deserved.”

“What does that even mean?”  She demanded, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring right into his argentine eyes.  She fought hard to ignore that they were so close together that she could see tiny flecks of gold scattered in amongst the silver in his irises. 

“It means,” he began slowly, his tone lowering and darkening as he met her challenge, “That your blood is filled with iron.  My kind despises the cold, deathly touch of it, and it pounds through your veins.”

“That doesn’t make me dirty,” Hermione whispered, her expression softening slightly as she clued into the implication of his words.  “It physically pains you to be human, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t respond, simply looked at her with eyes filled with something that she could only describe as sorrow.  Draco looked so melancholic that she nearly reached out to brush his silver hair out of his eyes.  At the last second, she thought better of it. 

Before she could say anything, the flash of pain was gone, and the mask of derision slid over his expression once more. 

“Your species deserves any of the names that we use,” he half-snarled, his eyes narrowing.  Hermione had no idea what he was referring to, but she had the feeling that people like her had tried to break their bargains for centuries.

_It must be exhausting, trying to make sure that your promises are repaid_ , she thought sadly.  She nearly let out a sigh of surprise when it occurred to her that she was sympathizing with Draco, or whatever his name was. 

_Oh, he’s good.  He’s going to manipulate me if I let him into my head.  Be careful, Hermione._

Her attention was drawn back to how close he was to her when he laughed softly, and his breath puffed over the exposed skin of her neck.  Her skin erupted with goosebumps, and she forced herself to move, sidestepping out of the reach of his outstretched arm, and backing away towards the door to the tower. 

“I-I’ll see what I can find to get us out of this mess,” she muttered, looking anywhere but at him. 

“Hermione, it’s right in front of your nose,” he said loudly, his tone exasperated.  “Remember the deal that you made.”

“Trust me, I spend most of my time trying to forget that night,” she said sharply, her fingers flying up to the scar on her chin out of habit; it was a nervous tick. 

His hand flew out to catch hers, and she sucked in a shocked breath as he raised her chin to inspect the scar.  He made a small sound of anger, and her eyes widened as his pupils narrowed to slits.  Power radiated off his skin as he stepped closer to her, looming over her and overwhelming her with the smell of cinnamon. 

“You _bled_ that night?!  Had you turned around and listened to me when I demanded that you return to finish the bargain, _we wouldn’t be in this mess_.”

“You said that you wanted my soul-” she snarled in strangled whisper, fighting to free her wrist from his iron grip.  He released her, forcing her to step backwards as her momentum carried her two steps away. 

“I would have taken any payment, had you offered it,” he growled back, pointing at her with an accusing finger.  “And now, the Old Magic has been denied its payment!”

“You constantly talk in riddles!”  She shot, stomping up to him and slapping his upraised hand away.  “That doesn’t help either of us! Either you help me, or you bugger off!”

His expression flickered through a number of different moods before he appeared to settle on dark amusement.  The chuckle that subsequently rumbled out of his throat made her eyes widen. 

The set of his eyes was distinctly predatory as he took another step towards her, his hands held out in supplication.  His eyes had darkened and her mind immediately flashed to her nightmares.  The skin on her neck suddenly felt hyper-sensitive, and she resisted the urge to clap her hand over her throat to protect it.  

“Fine.  I’ll leave.  But you have to give me something first,” he murmured, clearly enjoying her confusion as she stood rooted to the spot.  Her heart thundered madly in her chest and she felt a frisson of fright tempered with heat shoot down her spine.  Her muscles tensed and she stood rigidly with her fists clenched as he loomed closer.  She closed her eyes reflexively as he leaned ever closer, and then snapped them open as he laughed quietly again.

She very nearly scolded him for frightening her when she saw that he was holding the jar of honeycomb that she and Hagrid had collected that morning.  Her jaw dropped as he popped the stopper out and fished out a small piece of the sugared treat. 

“Pathetic.  You humans are so easily spooked. The nightmares were just dreams, you didn't seriously believe them, did you?”  Draco asked softly, his eyes glittering wickedly as he took in the shocked look on her face.  He delicately ate the honey, ignoring her completely until he had finished what he'd removed from the comb.  

"If I did, would I be questioning what's happening every time that you show up uninvited?"  She asked acidly, in no mood to play mind games.  

"Would you have tried to summon me if you didn't think that you could actually do it?" 

She hated that question with all of her being; he wasn't in a position to tell her what she could believe.  

When she didn't answer, he smirked and brandished the shining glass bottle that held the honey. "Take it back, if you want." 

"No thank you.  I don't really like honey,"  she murmured, still confused by his odd behavior.  Hermione suspected that it was going to take her a while to figure him out.  

"Suit yourself, I'll eat the whole thing myself then."

"Why do you want it?" She asked, hating herself for sounding breathless.  

“We kill for honey, in my world."

"Why?" 

"Humans give it to us as offerings.”

Somehow, Hermione doubted that he was kidding.  Gingerly, she reached out and gently took hold of the delicate glass bottle.  Just as her fingers brushed his, a film dropped over his irises, and they darkened to grey. 

His expression contorted from one of vague amusement to hatred, and Draco Malfoy suddenly stood in the fae’s place.  His eyes narrowed in confusion, and Hermione’s stomach dropped into her toes as it dawned on her that he had absolutely no memory of who she was to him or what he was doing in that particular hallway. 

_The moon must have disappeared for the day._

_He’s going to have me executed_ , her mind supplied helpfully, and she forcefully shut those dark imaginings away in the back of her brain.  She still stood, frozen, with her hand outstretched against his.  The poor honey jar was suspended in between them; Hermione knew without a doubt that it was going to plunge to the ground and smash into a million pieces. 

_Given our introduction yesterday, he’s going to lose his mind._

She wasn’t kept waiting long. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!" 

"I-I-"

"Get your hands off me, you useless peasant!”  Draco snarled, flinging himself away from her and slapping the small jar of honeycomb to the ground. 

Hermione flinched as the jar shattered, spraying across the floor and sending a shard of glass straight into the exposed skin of her ankle.  Her gasp of pain didn’t seem to bother Draco, who was already skidding down the stone steps behind her, his indignation puffing him up like an angry cat. 

She dropped to one knee and pulled out the glass, frantically scrubbing tears away from her eyes.  It wasn’t that she was in a lot of pain, but the weight of what her life had become was suddenly becoming real. 

_The dream was real.  Everything is real.  I can’t run anymore.  I can’t leave this unfinished; otherwise I’ll never have a moment of peace._

Hermione forced herself to think of other things, forcing her expression to one of sheepish embarrassment as the door to Slughorn’s rooms flew open and the portly doctor himself came bustling out to see what the commotion was. 

“Hermione, my dear, what’s happened?”

“Nothing, Horace.  Nothing at all.”

To Hermione’s great relief, her voice didn’t tremble.  With shaking hands, she gathered up her fallen herbs and followed Slughorn into the tower, hoping against all hope that she would be able to fix what she’d broken before it was too late. 

She didn’t have the foggiest idea of where to start searching for magic, but she could patch up her ankle. 

_Hermione, you should have stayed out of the woods_ , she thought mournfully, following Horace into the tower. 

* * *

Hermione yawned fiercely and stretched her neck until it cracked.  Sighing with contentment, she closed her book and looked out the window towards the setting sun. 

She had been at the Duke’s court for nearly three weeks, and finally it was starting to feel as though she had a routine.  Hermione always rose with the sun, went to search for herbs and to visit Hagrid, then usually to see Olympe, and then to Slughorn’s tower.  She had mostly been put in charge of fetching cordials and ingredients from the nearby village, but every other day she was instructed to make a new medicine for the Earl. 

Nothing seemed to work. 

Slughorn was growing increasingly frustrated with their lack of progress.  Hermione struggled constantly with the fact that she knew exactly what was wrong; as a doctor, she knew that she should come clean about what was affecting Draco. 

However, she could quickly squish her guilt down when she reminded herself of the fact that she would be carted off to the Bishop’s cathedral and interrogated for witchcraft if she was dumb enough to share what she knew.  She’d been avoiding Father Albus for almost the whole three weeks; she liked the man, but at this point, any slip up could cost her dearly. She'd been presented with irrefutable proof of the fae's existence and proximity, and she was afraid to try and gather any allies in case they turned against her. 

She wouldn't blame them; the story sounded completely insane even to her.  

_Getting burned at the stake won’t help anyone._

Hermione now had no doubts whatsoever about the fix for the situation; the only way that the Earl was going to get better was to rid him of the fae who now inhabited his body.  She did wonder what would happen when she succeeded, given that the fae had given Draco a new body and identity in Scotland, and so it was possible that the Earl could disappear altogether. 

She didn’t know whether to hope for or to fear that option coming to fruition. _Given the Duke's affection for his son, there will be hell to pay if he simply disappears._

Her research into the arcane was going frustratingly slowly, given that she only felt safe reading Slughorn’s collection of odd books when he wasn’t present, and also that not _one_ of the books, while incredibly thorough, gave any hint as to the use or execution of magic. 

She hadn’t encountered Draco since their unfortunate altercation in the hallway, and for that she was immensely grateful.  The last thing she needed was to get into another argument with the ancient creature and have nothing to show for her last fortnight of research. 

Hermione had read an awful lot of books since their last tiff, and her brain was brimming with new information, but she didn't have a clue how to go about harnessing the power that the fae had unwittingly given her. 

The power that she'd accidentally taken.  

She made a mental note to subtly ask Horace who Nicholas Flamel was. The man seemed to know an awful lot about the practice of magic; he'd written at least six of the books on the shelves of what Hermione fondly referred to as the "restricted section" of Slughorn's collection.  If Flamel knew how to use magic, he hadn't said so, but Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that he could be a crucial resource in her quest to learn how to use it.  

She stood up, humming contentedly as she returned her book to its shelf.  Hermione was just turning to leave when she felt a flicker of something strange behind her.  She pivoted slowly, her heartbeat accelerating just slightly as she turned her attention to the bookshelf. 

_It feels like…a heartbeat?_

The pulse called to her, tapping into something ancient in her blood.  She felt her face scrunch into a frown as she wandered closer.  Almost unwillingly, she raised her hands and placed them where the rhythm was coming from.  She could feel the energy beneath her fingertips, shining and shimmering below the surface of the bookshelf like sunlight through water. 

She drew her fingers along the wood of the bookshelf and she knew that she’d found something when her fingertips brushed against a slightly different texture of wood.  She pressed lightly against it, following the path of knowledge about hidden compartments and mechanisms that she wasn’t aware that she had, and grinned with triumph as a small drawer popped out of the bookcase, moving seamlessly and silently out from the grain of the wood. 

Inside the drawer was a small book, bound in what looked to be leather.  A puff of dust was dispelled out of the hidden nook as it was opened, and Hermione coughed vigorously as she accidentally inhaled a small lungful of it.  When she could breathe normally again, she wiped her eyes and drew the small tome out of its confines. 

The book was old, tattered, and covered with small scratch marks and spilled ink.  Hermione turned it over in her hands, somehow feeling as if she knew what it was.  There was something about it that called to her.  However, she didn’t miss the way that her skin felt like it was crackling with energy as her fingers brushed against the binding. 

She was hesitant to open it to the first page, but her curiosity got the best of her.  Hermione swore that she was imagining things, but the book thrummed with power.  Trying to ignore the twist of anxiety that wove into her veins, she took the book back to her table. 

She should have known better than to toy with magic that she didn’t understand. 

She told herself that her uncertainty had nothing to do with the strange symbol stamped into the cover.  She’d never seen it before; a skull around which a snake twined wasn’t exactly commonplace.  Gingerly, she opened the front cover, narrowing her eyes to try and decipher the inscription written in faded ink on the first page. 

Her Old English wasn’t stellar, but she was able to decipher that the book had once belonged to someone called Tom Riddle.  She flipped to the next page, glancing over her shoulder at the door, which was still slightly ajar.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d stumbled across something forbidden. 

It wasn't because the book had been hidden; it was because the book was _alive_.  In a strange way, it felt like it had a presence, and that both frightened and fascinated her.  

_Finally.  This is something that I can work with._

She pored over the contents of the first chapter, painstakingly translating the old text into something that she could understand.  It didn’t take her long to realize that the book was a journal.  She tried to ignore her instincts screaming at her that the book was sinister, and that there was something dangerous about it, but she continued to read nonetheless. 

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her heartbeat thumped in a staccato against her ribcage as she read.

The book was about magic. 

_Who is Horace Slughorn, and why does he have all these books and a secret hiding spot for a book like this?_

It contained detailed diagrams for spellcasting and lists upon lists of what the author referred to as “true names”.  Hermione devoured the knowledge within its pages, flipping though as quickly as she could to try and absorb as much of the information as she was able to. 

Suddenly, the fae’s words made sense.  She’d made a deal to learn to do _whatever she wanted_ , and now, she had a book full of instructions for _magic_. 

Her stomach rioted with a mixture of emotions, mostly fear tempered with excitement.  Her fear overrode everything else when she realized the cost of most of the spells that the author had jotted down.

Blood was required to power almost every spell and incantation. 

Her eyes widened as she inspected the dark stains on the pages with a new scrutiny, and she swallowed hard; the tiny, burnt-red splatters that marked several pages probably weren't made from red ink.  

It didn’t appear to be limited to animals either, and Hermione eyed the leather that bound the book with revulsion; she wasn’t sure what the binding was made out of.  Despite feeling very grossed out and scared that she was walking into another curse, she continued to read. 

Hermione couldn’t ignore her gut feeling any longer when she turned the page and came face to face with something that made her blood run cold and her stomach drop into her knees. 

There was a drawing of a fae. 

It wasn’t the creature that she’d stumbled across, but she would recognize the cast of its eyes anywhere.  It was eerily beautiful; the creature’s features were so perfectly symmetrical that she found herself unable to look away.  The drawing had been completed with silver ink, which shimmered in the light of the sun that still feebly shone into the room through the window. 

To her complete and utter horror, the drawing suddenly _moved_. 

Hermione sat, spellbound, as the image blinked and shifted slightly so that it could look her in the eye.  Words echoed in her mind, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. 

_"You. You are marked,"_ the creature whispered; her voice was as lovely as bells and twittering birds. 

“I know,” she said, her voice trembling with an emotion that she couldn’t explain. 

_“Your bargain with my kinsman has angered the Old Magic, you will not be able to escape its wrath should you choose to ignore it,”_  the she-fae murmured silently, her ageless eyes surveying Hermione from the worn and tattered page.  “ _Help him.  He will die if you cannot find a way to set him free.”_  

“It was a dream, this isn’t real!”  Hermione said suddenly, drawing back and shaking her head furiously. 

She hated the way that she still clutched at denial.  She knew full well that she wasn't dreaming.  

_“You know that it is true.  Hermione, you must fulfill the contract, or you will also die.”_

“You’re wrong, I’m not the one who’s dying,” she said coldly, making a move to throw the book across the room. _I must have fallen asleep again, I need to wake up-_

_“Please.  Gwaethe is my son.”_

She stopped in her tracks, knowing in her blood that the fae had revealed Draco’s true name.   Her mind whirred, searching for where she'd heard it before. 

Finally she remembered.  

 

_"So'el carð e'elmeɫ jaema," he had murmured. "Gwaeð, undaið, ðes'ka, ðunj'a'a, saet'nae'."  
_

_She'd felt his promise ripple through her skin, reacting to something ancient in her blood._

_I swear it by the sun and the moon's light, by the earth and the flame; I forge my promise from starlight and bitter iron._

 

Her dream came rushing back, and her eyes widened.  Gwaethe really had told her his name.  

_She must be desperate._

“Who are you?” Hermione whispered, her eyes raking over every detail of the animated drawing, marveling at the detail that flashed like liquid silver as the creature moved.  

_“You may call me Narcissa.”_

“How are you communicating with me?”  She murmured curiously, her trembling hands held the book aloft as she peered underneath it. 

Narcissa laughed softly; it was a bitter sound.  Hermione had never heard something so beautiful and frightening.  Whatever power her son had, she had tenfold.  The fae’s ancient eyes bore into Hermione’s and she resisted the urge to shiver. 

_“My blood binds a small part of me to this wretched book.  Tom Riddle has been hunting my kind for nearly two hundred years.  He nearly succeeded in catching me, as you can see.  My distaste for your kind runs deep, and I will never leave the Seelie realm again.”_

“Your blood?”  Hermione’s gaze snapped onto the ink that made up the living drawing, her heart leaping into her throat as she came to the realization that she was holding a part of the fae in her hands.  It looked like liquid quicksilver, and she already knew that the book was a product of dark and terrible enchantments. 

She hurriedly set the book down. 

_“Yes.  Names and blood are the cornerstones upon which my kind is able to use our magic.  You should already know this,_ ” she said reproachfully, staring at Hermione with what could only be described as motherly disapproval. 

Hermione had the good grace to look contrite; but she bit her lip in confusion.  “I convinced myself that I hadn’t completed any kind of bargain,” she admitted, tears welling in her eyes as the ancient creature’s steely expression softened slightly.  “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

_“My son is rather unforgiving, that I will apologize for.  But, as a mother, I must ask you to save his life.  He is close to powerless and vulnerable in your world.”_

“Frankly, given the fact that he’s tortured me for years,” Hermione began in a furious whisper, her eyes narrowing, “I’m not really feeling like I want to be friendly with someone who was willing to drive me insane to get what he wanted-“

_“And yet, it was you who called him and made a bargain in the first place,”_ Narcissa snapped, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring venomously at Hermione from the page.  “ _I did not only call to you in order to tell you how to save my son.  I am trying to save your life as well, you would have ascertained this fact if you were not so determined to save yourself from your fear!”_

“What do you mean..?”

_“You will be tracked down and killed, if the Old Magic does not turn on you first.  It is only a matter of time.  The man who trapped my magic in this vessel will not rest until he holds enough power to conquer death.”_

“Is Tom Riddle still alive?”  Hermione asked softly, already fearing the answer. 

_“Yes.  He has slain many of my kind, all for the power to prolong his life”,_ Narcissa said bitterly, flicking her delicate hand in a motion of disgust _.  “My son will be hunted, and as long as you hold his magic, so will you be._ ”

Narcissa’s bright eyes met Hermione’s, and without uttering a sound, Hermione knew exactly what her pleading expression said:   

_You are cursed.  Find the cure.  Save my son, and you shall emerge unscathed from the oath that binds you and he together._

_“Quickly, human.  Your time will run out sooner than you expect.”_

Her chest suddenly throbbed with a stabbing pain, and Hermione doubled over.  She coughed frantically as her muscles began to spasm, fighting to pull air into her lungs.  She clapped a hand to her mouth, and when she finally caught her breath, she drew back in horror. 

“My God,” she whispered, wincing as her lungs gave another painful throb. 

_“Help my son.  Save yourself.”_

Her hand was dripping with dark, red blood.  Hermione hurriedly grabbed her handkerchief and cleaned her hand; her panic was as terrifying and acrid as the metallic tang of the blood in her mouth.  She could feel her head pounding, and she let out an involuntary gasp of pain as agony shot through her veins. 

She fell off of the chair with a thump, landing hard on the ground.   

The last thing that she saw before everything went black was a pair of startlingly green eyes, peering at her from around the corner of the door. 

_Green eyes.  Just like my vision._

_“Remember, Hermione, your lives are bound together.  If either of you dies, you both die.”_


	7. Lumos Maxima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns how to use her magic. A new danger looms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to update. I was travelling for a month, and then I ended up coming down with pneumonia. I'm back now, and should be updating (semi) regularly from now on! :)

Hermione felt like she was drowning.  She was floating in an inky blackness that pressed in on all sides, forcing her to gasp for breath.  She couldn’t see or feel anything, and that made her panic.  Her body felt hot and cold at the same time, and she frantically struggled upwards, searching desperately for a shred of light that would indicate a way to escape the prison that held her. 

Without any warning, a word flashed into her mind, drowning out all of the pain and fear that ruled her senses.  Her lips formed the words, and she threw every ounce of her will towards it. 

_Lumos maxima._

The darkness let out a shriek, exploding outwards from her body as a halo of brilliant white light began to radiate from her skin.  She sucked in a grateful breath as oxygen returned to her lungs, affording her body a chance to calm her racing heartbeat. 

The pain hadn’t receded at all, however, and she sobbed helplessly as blood began to pour out of her mouth now that the inky darkness wasn’t pressing into her lungs. 

It tasted like cinnamon.

The blood wasn’t human, and that made her panic taste even more acidic in her mouth.  It was the molten silver of the fae’s blood, streaming in metallic rivers down the length of her throat and soaking into her hair. 

Desperately, she wracked her brain for something that could help, and sobbed with relief tinged with fear as another word burned itself into her mind’s eye.

“Consano!”  She blurted, hating the way that the word sounded coming out of her mouth.  There was something ancient in her body that reacted to the word, and she couldn’t describe the euphoric rush of power that washed over her. 

Immediately, the blood receded into her body, and she could feel the pain dissipating.  Her veins repaired themselves and she could feel her lungs sucking in breaths that were no longer agonizingly painful.  

_Remember, Hermione.  Remember what you saw in the diary.  Learn what you can._

Hermione spun in a panicked circle, trying to find the source of Narcissa’s voice. 

“Why kill me?  Why wouldn’t the Old Magic want me to live long enough to figure it out?”

_You have broken the most sacred law between our two kinds.  If you can repair what you shattered, then you will be able to save yourself.  That is all the help that I can safely offer you._

“I didn’t mean to break anything,” Hermione whispered, fighting down a wave of tears that threatened to pour over her cheeks.  “How do I fix this?”

_You will right your wrong, of that I have no doubt.  Hurry, you’re losing valuable time.  You have already found the key.  I have shown you what you need to know._

“What is the key?”

Before Narcissa could answer, the endless nothingness below her feet opened up and she began to fall.  She shrieked wordlessly as she plunged downwards at an impossible speed.

The emptiness swallowed her whole. 

* * *

 

Her eyes flickered open, and her real body struggled to focus on the pair of vividly green eyes half a foot from her face. 

“Are you alright?”

Hermione sat up with a gasp, her hair flying around her shoulders as she pressed a shaking hand to her chest.  The young man who sat next to her suddenly jumped to his feet and ran over to Slughorn’s drawers, returning quickly with a bottle of wine and a silver goblet. 

Still too shocked to speak, Hermione accepted the offered drink and drank deeply, savouring the slight burn of the alcohol as it warmed her from the inside out.  Finally, she found her voice and took a deep breath.

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”  He asked insistently, paying no mind to the fact that his hair was a rumpled mess and there was blood on his sleeve as he refilled the goblet.

“Y-yes, I think so.”

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he babbled, running a hand over his hair and grinning sheepishly at her.  She realized that his hair was probably always like that, and the thought brought a small smile to her lips as she drank another measure of wine. 

“I heard a thump, and –blimey- thought that you were dying!  I tried to wake you up with smelling salts, and it didn’t work-“

Hermione was suddenly struck with an ice-cold dose of panic as she remembered the diary. 

Her stomach churned uncomfortably as she thought about what was contained in the book. 

_I hope he doesn’t notice it on the table, oh please, oh please-huh?_

She darted a furtive glance to the top of the table and experienced several competing emotions at once. 

The book was gone. 

She was relieved that the book wasn’t on the table, panicked that the book was gone, and scared that Slughorn would discover that she was now privy to what she assumed was a closely guarded secret. 

“Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you on the floor like that, and I can’t believe that you’re alright, there was so much blood, but I must have imagined it-“

“Thanks, Harry,” she murmured weakly, trying to rearrange her features into a neutral mask that didn’t betray her inner turmoil.  “I don’t know what could have happened if you hadn’t come along.”

“Anyone would have helped,” he said earnestly, peering at her through the spectacles that she’d just realized he was wearing.  They threatened to slip off of his nose, and he impatiently pushed them back into place.  The bridge that settled over his nose was tied off with twine, she noticed with some confusion. 

“I don’t know if they would have,” she replied, glancing down at herself and noting with some surprise that there wasn’t any blood on her or the floor.   It had completely disappeared.

Her gaze flicked up to meet Harry’s and she suddenly found herself speechless.  She didn’t know what to say, which was very unusual for her. 

_Was it because of the word that I said in the dream? Was that real?  I could have sworn that I was experiencing the symptoms of consumption._

“I’m Hermione,” she said finally, more to fill the silence than anything. 

She felt herself warming immediately to the kind, strange boy as his face split into a wide smile and he sat back on his haunches.  He refilled her goblet without asking, and took a swig out of the bottle for himself.   Hermione felt a small smile spreading across her mouth; his mannerisms reminded her of Ron. 

Her instincts were rarely wrong, and she felt like she could trust him.  It felt so foreign to meet someone her own age at court who was willing to help a girl that he’d never met; she decided that she would give a newfound friendship a shot. 

“Oh, you’re old Slughorn’s other student.  I thought that you might be,” Harry said thoughtfully, clamboring to his feet and offering her his hand.  She took it gratefully and climbed unsteadily to her full height, sitting down on the stool that he’d very helpfully righted for her. 

Her eyes widened. 

The blood on his sleeve was gone.    But, strangely enough, he didn’t seem to notice.

“So, what happened?”  He asked, his bright eyes watching her quizzically as she took a moment to regain her senses. 

“Exhaustion, I suppose,” she lied, fighting down the guilty little voice inside her that told her that it was wrong to lie to the boy who had so kindly helped her in a moment of need.  But, as her rational side kicked in, she knew that it was the right decision. 

_I’m dying because of a fairy curse.  I can’t exactly tell anyone that._

“You’re working on Draco’s sickness right? I heard that from old Sluggy,” Harry said casually, looking over at her with some surprise as she choked on her mouthful of wine. 

She coughed frantically for a few seconds, wiping the spilled wine from her chin.  “Old Sluggy?”

Harry grinned, nodding knowingly at her as his cheeks pinked slightly.  “Sorry, force of habit.  He’s been my tutor for a few years.”

“So you know him well?”

“More or less.  I’ve heard quite a bit about you, but it looks like he hasn’t mentioned me,” he said frankly, his expression warming even further as she pinked with embarrassment. 

“Oh god, I hope it’s not unflattering.”

“No, he thinks you’re brilliant, actually,” Harry admitted, smiling at her.  “He also said that you’re not from around here, so I was hoping to eventually meet you.  It’s a shame that it was under such odd circumstances.”

“I agree,” she admitted, still embarrassed that she’d fainted. 

“It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t caught up in the court drama,” Harry said frankly, grabbing a goblet for himself and settling down in the chair across from her at the table. 

Hermione flushed slightly, impatiently pushing her hair away from her face.  “I don’t think I warrant half of the praise, but thanks.  I keep to myself, so uh, my life is pretty uneventful.”

She took another long pull of wine.  The lie tasted bitter in her mouth. 

“Well, at least you don’t insist on bowing and scraping,” Harry said honestly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.  “It gets old, fast.”

Hermione finally clued in, and her eyes widened.  She hopped off the chair and looked at him with an expression that was half accusing and half amused.  “So, are you going to tell me who you really are, my Lord?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open for a split second before he sheepishly sighed.  “My father’s the Earl of Westmorland-aw no, don’t do that, please-“

Hermione had grabbed her skirts and was halfway through a curtsy and a heartfelt apology for her rudeness when he’d reached out and gently snagged her arm.  “What?”

“I’d like to be _just_ Harry, if that’s all right,” he continued weakly, grimacing and ruffling his hair again as she straightened up and stared at him.

“All right then.  _Just_ Harry,” she murmured, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she took her seat again, subtly glancing around for the book again. 

_Thump.  Thump.  Thump._

That’s when she felt the pulsing in the bookshelf.  Like a heartbeat, it let out small bursts of magic, a magical beacon that was so obvious that she was amazed that Harry couldn’t hear it. 

He was completely oblivious to it, which was made clear as he continued to talk animatedly.  

Her relief was instantaneous, and she let out a long breath. 

She hurriedly turned her attention back to Harry, trying to focus on what he was saying.  “Sorry?”

“I was wondering if you know what Draco’s got,” Harry repeated; his emerald eyes were soft with concern.  “We grew up together, so…”

She bit her lip, trying to find a way to ease his concern without revealing too much.  “Horace has some ideas, but we’re not sure yet.”

_He’s too easy to talk to; I need to be careful._

Harry nodded, glancing down at his hands.  “Right.  That’s what I thought.  No one is willing to give me a straight answer, so thanks.”

“Anytime,” she murmured, once again trying to squash the guilt that was currently doing somersaults in her stomach.  Harry glanced around the room, taking in the mess of books that she’d made. 

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, much.”

Harry was clearly relieved, and she watched with amusement as he reached up to ruffle his hair again and forcibly dropped his hand.  He hopped to his feet and, despite her protests, placed all of the books back on their shelves.  Hermione found it odd that he knew exactly where they were supposed to go.

“Have you read them before?”  She asked cautiously, trying not to be too obvious.  Her pulse still hammered in her veins, and she wondered if Harry knew what Slughorn’s secret was.

He shrugged, replacing a book titled “ _Occlumency:  Seeing into the Soul_ ” on the shelf.  “Yeah, some of them.  Sluggy likes to collect old, weird books.  Apparently they’re valuable.”

Knowing Slughorn’s penchant for expensive things, Hermione couldn’t say that she was surprised.  “Why are they valuable?”

“The Vatican would pay a lot to get their hands on them, I guess.  The older they get, the harder they are to find.”

“What happens if the Vatican buys them..?”  She asked quietly, flinching as he walked past the spot where the odd diary was still pulsing.  To her great relief, he didn’t seem to notice. 

_He’s not terribly observant_ , her inner voice observed drily.

“I think they burn them,” Harry replied easily, dusting off the shelf before replacing the final volume.  “They’re interesting, but I don’t believe any of it.  Draco used to be obsessed with them, though.”

“Really?”  She squeaked; she hastily cleared her throat to lower her tone as he turned to look at her, his eyebrow raised in a silent question.  She waved at him with a dismissive hand.  “I’m fine.  What did he like about them?”

“He always liked the folk stories about fairies.  His mother used to read them to us,” Harry replied, striding back to where she still sat.

Hermione mulled over the new information, feeling more than a little bit sick as she thought about how the fae had lured Draco into the forest. 

_Sounds like he was the perfect victim_ , she thought darkly, very determined to get the truth out of the odd creature that she’d mistakenly intertwined her life with. 

Harry poured them both another glass of wine before he sat down, admiring the label on the ornate wine bottle.  He let out a quiet whistle, shaking his head as he set it down.

“What?”  Hermione demanded, raising an eyebrow at his odd expression. 

“We’re drinking a bottle that probably cost Sluggy about a hundred solid gold coins,” Harry answered sheepishly, grinning at her over his goblet, “That vineyard doesn’t produce much anymore.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she hurriedly put her glass down on the table and pushed it out of her reach. 

He laughed, brandishing his cup before he drank deeply.  “We’ve already opened it, no use letting it go to waste.”

“I don’t know,” she said sheepishly, staring into the burgundy liquid.  It didn’t look like anything special.   

“Do you think it’s good?”

“I wouldn’t pay more than three for it,” she replied honestly; she found herself grinning back at him before she knew it. 

He peered into his cup and pushed his glasses up his nose again.  “I agree.  I’ll have to replace it.”

“Right,” she murmured, still flabbergasted at the price of the dry wine. “So, you’ve known the Earl for ages.”

“Yeah, I have.  I dunno why he’s turned into such a prat; he had his moments, but he wasn't a complete prick.”

“I keep hearing that.  He has an ailment of the mind, I suspect,” Hermione said miserably, trying to ignore the ripple of unease that trailed down her spine as she uttered the lie.  “What was he like before?”

“Well, still a prat sometimes, but mostly tolerable,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes and shooting her another small grin.  “You know, you have those mates who you’ve known for ages- so they’re blood- even though you’d like to kill them sometimes?”

“Yes, I do,” she chuckled, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.  “I have one of those.  So what’s your favourite childhood memory with him?”

_I’m friends with a lord,_ Hermione thought wonderingly as she listened to him tell her about growing up with Draco.  Apparently, the real Draco had a penchant for pranks.

_He likes the colour green.  He hates dancing, but he does it anyways because he’s good at it and it’s expected of him.  He always sneaks out to the gardens to eat fresh carrots in late summer.  He loves his horse, and they’re usually out riding as often as possible.  He can’t sing a note._

_I don’t know anything about the fae.  If he’s taken over Draco, does that mean that the boy who he used to be is dead?_

_That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard._

The candles that spluttered in the sconces throughout the room began to burn out after they’d been talking for several hours.  Hermione had found Harry to be very interesting, and she’d settled into the comfortable banter of new friendship, of questions and quickly established inside jokes with ease.  Harry reminded her strongly of Ron, and that was a welcome thought. 

She was so absorbed in the conversation that she’d almost managed to forget about the diary and Narcissa’s warning. 

_I can’t do anything until Draco’s under the influence of the moon anyways.  It can wait a day.  I won’t get close to him when he’s being guarded in his room._

She stubbornly refused to acknowledge that with every minute that passed, she was slowly but steadily creeping towards death.  She could feel it in her veins, pulsing in an opposite staccato to her heartbeat; it was just a matter of time until things got serious. 

It wasn’t until the moon was high in the sky that she remembered that she’d been tasked with finishing Draco’s daily morning draft.  She jumped off of the seat mid-sentence and began to rush around the room, palming the herbs that she needed. 

“Uh, Hermione..?”   Harry asked slowly; his face scrunched up with confusion as he watched her run willy-nilly between the spice cupboards and the worktable where he still sat. 

“I’m sorry; I completely forgot to finish something!”  She blurted, frantically mashing huckleberries and honey together in a large mortar.  “Keep talking, it’s fine!”

He glanced outside and ran a hand through his hair.  “No, really.  It’s my fault; I shouldn’t have kept you from your work.”

“Really, it’s fine-“

“I’ll go.  Don’t overwork yourself, you might end up fainting again,” he said gently, standing and making for the door.  “At least let me make sure that you get back to your quarters.”

“Thanks, Harry, but I’m fine,” she chirped, brushing her hair out of her face as she added echinacea, ginger, and peppermint to the mixture.  “I might have some time in the afternoon tomorrow, have you ever ridden Hermes?”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a conspiratorial smile.  “No, he’s Draco’s.  I have a feeling that you have, though.”

She grinned, waggling one green-coated finger at him. “Don’t tell anyone.”

He laughed, and she found the tight knot of worry between her shoulder blades loosening at the warm sound. 

“Goodnight then,” he said with a sigh, turning on his heel and leaving.  He waved through the gap between the door and the frame before gently closing the door with a click. 

“Goodnight, _just_ Harry,” she called, grinning as she heard him snort outside in the hallway.  She turned her attention back to the medicine, her smile turning into a grimace as she inspected the sludge.

She dropped the pestle as soon as Harry’s footsteps were no longer right outside the door. 

She jumped up and strode over to the door as quietly as she could and turned the lock.  As soon as she heard Harry’s footsteps fading away down the staircase, she darted back to the bookshelf and popped out the tiny drawer that held the still-pulsating diary. 

She held it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, as if it was about to burn her, and set it quickly down on the table.  She grabbed one of the candles that still burned in its fixture and firmly affixed it to the table with its own wax.  As soon as she was sure that it wouldn’t fall over and damage the book, she quickly flipped it open to the page where Narcissa was inked. 

The drawing wasn’t moving, and she let out a silent sigh that was tinged with relief.  The book still let out small vibrations, and she rifled through it, catching diary entries that filled her with disgust and dread. 

**_“Conjuring the cursed.  May 07, 1347.”_ **

**_“The Consumption of Death. March 14, 1489.”_ **

**_“Words of Power.  July 31 st, 1498.” _ **

**_“The Key is Silver- not Gold.  January 16 th, 1522.” _ **

The last entry had been penned fifteen years before the current date.

_“_ How old was this guy..?”  She whispered wonderingly; her tone was coloured by a mixture of amazement and fear, “And who is he?”

_If he’s managed to get a fae trapped in a book, he’s powerful.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he were nearly immortal.  Why is this book here, and why does Slughorn have it?_

The page fell open to one that she had pored over before she’d suffered the internal attack, and she gingerly turned the thick paper over to see if there was any trace of Narcissa.  She found nothing that would suggest that the mysterious fae was watching her every move.  But at this point, she knew better than to assume that her every move wasn’t constantly scrutinized. 

The book smelled faintly of cinnamon. 

She reread over the page, her brow furrowing as she absorbed the information.  She quickly translated the text, reading faster and faster as her quick mind readjusted to the archaic language that Riddle had used to pen the entry. 

_…the art of naming still seems to elude me.  However, given that I have recently acquired the necessary means with which to channel the power, I should have better success.  The fae is powerful, almost frighteningly so, and it took nearly all of my power and knowledge to trap a fraction of her ability.  Her blood is sealed within this book, and for that I owe thanks to my servant, Wormtail.  He lost a hand in the fight, and so I have gifted him a new one.  Perhaps it is some kind of penance for all of the occasions when he has failed to complete the tasks that I have assigned him.  Nevertheless, he performed well-when it mattered._

_I see no reason to keep him should he fail again._

_In the meantime, a silver hand is what I have seen fit to give him.  The irony has not been lost on us- it should serve as a reminder of his service._

_My disciples shall, as is their duty, allow me to perform the necessary rituals upon them.  I have no doubt that I will be able to reverse the effects of aging.  Flamel is foolish to think that he is the only one to conquer death; I will be the one to look into his ancient, watery, dying eyes and prove that I am the more powerful alchemist._

She raised her eyes from the page, mulling over what she’d learned.  Nicholas Flamel’s name was familiar to her; she decided that she needed to know why he was important. 

_An alchemist, huh._

There was something else that was nagging at her about the strange dream, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  Then it hit her: Riddle could use _fae_ magic. 

“Wait,” she muttered, wracking her brain for the answer. “So can I!”

_You already have the key._

“The words that came to me in the darkness, they were _Latin_ ,” she breathed, flipping through the pages of the diary until she came through the page titled “true names”.  Most of the words she did recognize, although their spelling was archaic, and she didn’t speak it. 

_That’s it!  I can use that!_

She glanced at the page again and skimmed it until she found a word that she recognized.  Hermione’s heartbeat thumped in an irregular staccato as she stared at the candle in front of her.  The flame was flickering gently in the breeze from the open window, but burned steadily.  She concentrated and breathed out a quiet word in Latin, hoping that it would work. 

_Just snuff out the flame.  That should be easy.  Focus, Hermione._

“Extinguat.”

The candle continued to burn merrily, and she let out a disappointed sigh.  She cradled her head in her hands and breathed in the comforting scent of peppermint and honey still that lingered on her fingers from mixing the tincture.  The tension in her shoulders drained away as she focused on her breathing; she knew that nothing would work if she was trying frantically to force the magic to bend to her will. 

Her mind flashed back to her dream, and her eyes snapped open as a new idea occurred to her. 

_In the dream, I was dying.  Maybe, until I can control it, the magic only works if I’m under stress.  That’s how it was given to me in the first place!_

Slowly, carefully, she reached out and placed her hand directly over top of the flame.  She bit her lip as it immediately began to burn her skin.  She fought back the urge to snatch her hand away and managed to overpower her instincts long enough to manifest her will and croak out the spell. 

This time, the word left her mouth as a half-sob.  A surge of power bubbled up in her blood, and she felt it spreading into every inch of her body as a rushing noise filled her ears. 

The flame disappeared, as quickly and as completely as if she’d snuffed it out between her fingers.  She stared at in in confusion for a moment, before bursting into incredulous laughter. 

_Narcissa showed me how to use it! She really did give me the key!_

Her momentary joy was cut short, however, when it dawned on her how much she had to learn. 

_How am I going to learn what I need to in time?_

Slowly, she closed the diary and returned it to its hiding spot.  Her mind worked quickly, ticking over the new information. 

_It’s now or never, I suppose._

Hermione made the conscious decision to pursue the magic, the consequences be damned. 

_At least if I get investigated for witchcraft, the spells that can save me will probably work if I’m being tortured,_ she thought bitterly.  Her finger tapped against her bicep as she crossed her arms and considered her next move. 

“My deal was to learn to do anything that I choose,” she muttered determinedly, striding over to Slughorn’s bookcases and selecting a huge book written in Latin.  “I guess it’s time to test that.”

She lugged the volume over to the table and grabbed three more candles.  She lit one using the chandelier above the worktable and settled into her chair. 

Two full candles worth of time later, she was still working. 

The early dawn crept in as she read.  The sky began to lighten, and the horizon began to glow with the soft oranges and pinks of a new day.   She didn't pay it any mind. 

She finally looked up as she finished the second volume, and rubbed at her gritty eyes.  She stood up and peered out of the window and cracked her neck as she took a much-needed break.  Hermione’s gaze swiveled upwards and she froze.  The moon was waxing, and she stared up at it, feeling more than a little bit melancholic. 

“If only you were in the sky all the time,” she murmured, “Maybe Draco wouldn’t be such a-“

_Wait._

Her hand flew up to her necklace, and she ran her fingers over the rough metal.  _He never said that the moon has to be in the sky._

She slowly raised the trinket over her head and unlatched the window.  She poked her head out and took a deep breath to calm her nerves; the moat sat directly below the gap.  If she dropped the necklace there was no way for her to find it in the deep, murky water. 

Hermione didn’t want to lose the only piece of home that she’d brought with her.  She told herself that Ron wouldn’t mind; it might be the only way to ensure that she survived the curse. 

_It’s just a necklace, he’ll understand._

She pinched the string of the pendant between her thumb and forefinger and slowly eased her hand out into the air beyond.  A breeze picked up without any warning, and she quickly tightened her perilous grip.  Once she was satisfied that her heart rate was sufficiently elevated, she darted a glance around to make sure that she wasn’t being watched by any of the guards who patrolled along the walls. 

“Mollire,” she whispered, holding her breath as the now-familiar rush of magic wound through her veins.  The metal slowly lost its teardrop shape and began to pulse with a cherry-red glow as it slowly began to slide downwards. 

She let out a surprised laugh that turned into a frantic expletive as she accidentally loosened her hold on the string.  She half-threw herself out of the window in order to catch it, and sagged with relief against the cold stone of the windowsill as her fingers tangled in the string, firmly re-establishing her hold on the necklace. 

Hermione quickly backed up and hung the still merrily glowing pendant from the chandelier that sat above the table and dragged the candle that was still burning towards her.  She quickly blew it out; waving away the smoke that clouded her vision. 

She dipped her fingers into the tepid wine that still sat by the book and then pressed them immediately into the still-hot wax.  She hissed in pain as it burned her fingertips, but she stubbornly pressed the malleable wax into the shape of a crescent moon.  She glanced up at the red-hot pendant and slowly lowered it into the new mold.  She very nearly touched the metal, but then thought better of it and grabbed the pestle that still sat in the putrid green mixture that was Draco’s medicine. 

She hurriedly used the stone pestle to press the hot metal into the shape of the wax, coughing hard as the herbs that had seeped into the pores of the stone ignited.  As she lifted the pestle away, she couldn’t help her small smile; it was perfect. 

Hermione gently pulled the pendant out of the wax and inspected it. 

_This should work._

She reached over and dipped the pendant into the wine goblet, wincing as the burgundy liquid began to bubble and smoke as the still-hot metal came into contact with it. 

She waited until the wine had ceased to boil before carefully wrapping the necklace in her handkerchief and tucking it into her pocket.  Hermione took a calming breath and hopped off of her chair.  She quickly replaced the books that she’d displaced from the bookshelf, and was just about to leave the workroom when she heard a sound that made her freeze in her tracks. 

Keys jingled right outside the door, and she heard the unmistakable sound of Horace and Father Albus’ voices. 

She frantically skidded into the restricted section of Horace’s library and half-closed the door that separated it from the rest of the library, full well aware that she would have to do some explaining if they found out that she’d spent the whole night in the workroom.  Almost too late, she remembered the wine goblet filled with extremely expensive (and also very bad) wine that still sat on the table. 

The worst part was that it was still _hot_. 

She tried to dart across the room as quickly as she could, snatching the goblet and running back to the restricted section as the door swung open, admitting the two men, who were engrossed in a very intense conversation. 

Hermione pressed herself into the darkest corner of the tiny closet and tried her hardest to smother the tiny gasp of pain that escaped her as the hot wine slopped over her wrist and down her arm into her sleeve. 

To her great relief, they didn’t notice.   She allowed herself a second to breathe, and then felt a trickle of alarm shoot down her spine when she clued into what they were talking about. 

“Albus, I see no improvement in Draco’s condition.  I don’t believe that we’re dealing with anything that is natural,” Horace said pointedly, bustling from one end of the room to the other.  Hermione heard the clunk that accompanied his inspection of the mortar and pestle and pressed her body further into the shadows. 

“Surely the boy has improved somewhat,” Albus replied gently, clearly trying to soothe Horace’s rattled nerves. 

“Not at all!  His mood has in fact worsened since the poor Granger girl arrived.  If she wasn’t such an astute pupil, I would have had to send her away for fear that he would act rashly and go after her.”

“Your descriptions of his personality change are alarming, Horace, but I would perhaps caution you against speculation-“

“He changes at night.”

Albus remained silent for a long moment, and Hermione had to lean forward to hear the rest of the conversation.  Her heartbeat thundered so loudly in her ears that she could barely catch what Dumbledore said next.

“How so?”

“He becomes quiet once again.  When he does speak, he is cold, calculating, and does not recognize certain people or remember snippets of gossip.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am positive.”

“Does his father know?”

“Not yet.  I’m quite hesitant to tell him anything until I’m quite sure that we are dealing with…well, the thing that we are dealing with.”

“Perhaps I should reach out to some of my contacts in the Vatican,” Albus mused, and Hermione could picture him tapping his finger against the side of his nose in thought.

“I’ve prepared a safe house, should we need to quarantine him,” Slughorn said quietly. 

“Good.  We’ll wait until we have no other choice before we whisk the Duke’s son away into the safety of the wilderness.  I will write to the Inquisitor in Spain for aid.”

“You don’t think that we should write to-“

“Riddle is a last resort,” Dumbledore said sternly; his tone was quietly chastising, “He will require a payment that may be too great for us to accommodate.  I will make some inquiries, wait for my word.”

“Albus-“

“Continue to treat him as well as you are able.  Perhaps we are not dealing with the Fair Folk.  I pray that it is not the case." 

Hermione’s blood ran cold at his words, and she fought to keep calm as they finished their conversation and swept from the room, locking the door behind them as they left.

_They know.  They know Riddle.  Is he still alive, or is it his son who has continued his work..?_

She slid down the wall until she hit the ground with a thump.  Her heart was pounding so fast that she thought that it might jump right out of her chest.  She pressed a trembling hand to her sternum, trying to remember how to breathe properly as she reeled from what she’d just overheard. 

_We’re in so much danger._

Her fear suddenly turned to rage as she directed her attention to Slughorn’s words.  Draco hadn’t bothered to try and hide the fact that he became a different person under the influence of the moon.  He wasn’t trying to keep their secret; he didn’t care how high the stakes were. 

It finally occurred to her that he probably knew that she would also die. 

_Maybe he wants me to die so that he’ll be freed from the oath._

She sat in the side room for a long time, until the sun was high in the sky and birds chirped loudly from the forest that lay inside the grounds.  Hermione eventually eased herself off of the ground, groaning as the blood rushed back into her legs.  She leaned against the worktable and glared at the green goo in the mortar. 

_Sod it.  I need answers._

Moving quickly, she strode to the door and unlocked it from the inside.  She darted out into the hallway and padded down the staircase, trying to keep her plan straight. 

_I need to get into his rooms._

She dug deep into her knowledge of court etiquette and quickly adopted the flowing stride of a lady-in-waiting as she made her way into the heart of the castle where the Duke and his family lived.  Hermione pointedly ignored anyone who wore the garb of the kitchen or cleaning staff; what she needed was anonymity. 

Eventually, as her anxiety reached its peak, she slipped down the passageway that led towards Draco’s rooms.  It was still early enough that he was most likely just starting his day. 

Finally, she reached the massive stone passageway that held the door to his rooms and pressed herself into a corner.  Glancing down the way, she could see two guards.  They each wore a chest plate and chain mail, and she could tell from fifty feet away that their steel swords were razor sharp. 

She gulped and returned fully to her hiding spot, trying in vain to control her breathing and focus. 

_I’ve only got one shot at this_. 

She finally managed to focus enough to pull one vocabulary word out of her brain.  Her aim was to confuse and disorient the guards, not to injure them. 

“Confundus,” she whispered, directing every ounce of her will towards the two guards.  She sucked in a shocked, pleased breath as the warm rush of power washed over her. 

The magic took almost too long to work; she’d already written it off as a failure when the guard on the right suddenly turned to the other with a look of great confusion plastered clearly across his plain face. 

“Crabbe,” he said slowly, “Why are we standing in front of this door?”

“I dunno,” was the rumbled reply.  “But I fancy a drink.”

“Where’s the pub?”

“Dunno.”

“Reckon we should look for it?”

“Yeah, alright.  Which way is out?”

“Dunno.”

“Why are you called Crabbe?”

“Dunno.  Why are you called Goyle?”

“Dunno. Do we work here?”

“Dunno.”

Hermione pressed herself into the stone as closely as she could, trying her hardest to quiet her frantic breathing as they lumbered past, creaking in their heavy armour.  Once they were far enough down the hallway, she darted across the stone on silent feet and eased the giant door to Draco’s chambers open. 

She didn’t allow herself to feel the panic that thundered through her veins. 

She stalked through the main entryway, not even taking a moment to marvel at the opulent décor.  She padded down a small hallway to what she assumed was Draco’s bedroom.  She didn’t even care about all of the rules that she was breaking; her rage had completely overridden her ability to think rationally. 

Hermione slammed the door open, intent on surprising Draco. 

_That’s probably the only way that this is going to work_ , she thought angrily, already prepared for a fight. 

Her fist clenched as she caught sight of Draco sitting tucked into a cushioned window nook, reading a book and looking every inch a prince.  He looked up as she crashed into the room, and his split second of confusion was immediately replaced with anger. 

Her stomach churned, and ice wound its way into her veins, but she determinedly continued towards him, yanking the necklace out of her pocket. 

“I have questions,” she snapped, trying very hard not to lose her nerve. 

"What is the meaning of this?!"  He demanded, swiveling around to face her like an angry owl.  "Guards!  Why-" 

"Shut up and look!"  She hissed, planting herself in front of him and holding the moon charm in front of his eyes. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Lumae lumen,” she whispered, hoping against all hope that she had enough willpower to activate the magic.  The now-familiar whisper of magic zipped down her skin and into her bones, and she let out a shaky sigh as the pendant began to glow with a pale white light, illuminating Draco’s face with a soft, shimmering glow.

Immediately, Draco's grey eyes lightened to silver, and he let out a small, breathless laugh.  

"Clever.  You should have thought of that sooner." 

"All that you said was that the moon had to be out, not in the sky," she said breathlessly, half relieved and half-annoyed by his response.  "I've been up half the night learning Latin." 

He smirked at her, stepping away and pouring himself a large glass of wine from the fully-set table that sat in the middle of the large room.  "So.  You figured out a way to defy the constraints on my magic.  Well done, human." 

"Yes.  We have a big problem, but first, I have questions."

"I'm not surprised.  Fire away." 

"What happened to the real Earl?" 

Her heart was in her throat as she asked the question; she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear that he was dead or not.  Knowing what the fae was capable of, she wouldn't put it past him to flat out kill the boy.  

"He's in Scotland, I told you this already."   

His reply left her with the distinctive feeling that her question had left him feeling very ruffled.  She was quite sure that his authority wasn't questioned very often.  

"That doesn't explain much,"  she huffed, leaning on the table in front of her and glaring at him as he lazily picked up the moon charm and began to wind it around his long fingers.  She reached out and poured herself a goblet of juice, ignoring his disapproving glare.  

"Hm," he replied noncommittally, ignoring her right back.  

"Does he not know who he is?  Why on earth hasn't he marched back here and demanded his body back?" 

"No, which is what he wanted," Draco said evasively, leaning casually against the window frame and raising an eyebrow at her. "It's not technically his body anymore.  He gave it up willingly, and I gave him a better one.  He should be thanking me."

"A better one?" 

"Yes.  This one is weak."

Hermione found that she couldn't quite agree.  She didn't hold the opinion that his current body was weak at all.  Hermione supposed that it suited him to have a handsome face; people were more likely to make deals when they were presented with an attractive offer, face and all.  She had to admit that he looked unfairly good in the early-afternoon light, but she forcibly jerked her thoughts back to her interrogation.   She wasn't interested in dancing around the subject of her questions.  

"What happens when you are freed?"  She asked nervously, her expression sobering as she watched him.  

He shrugged, pushing his bright silver hair out of his face.  "It could be a lot of different things." 

"You didn't answer my question, Draco." 

His gaze flicked up to meet hers, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from looking away.  "That's not my name." 

"Well I'm going to call you Draco, it's a lot easier than trying to wrap my mouth around your actual name," she grumbled, feeling slightly triumphant as his eyes narrowed at her. 

He didn't say anything, however, so she took the opportunity to ask him some questions.  "Gwaethe, or whatever you're called, you have a lot of explaining to do." 

"Not specific enough, try the question again." 

"What does your name mean, anyways?"  

He paused for a moment, and she knew him well enough to know that he was working out a way to word his answer so that she was left with very little information.  

"It means "silver-tongue"," he admitted, looking at her through his sooty eyelashes,  "Oddly enough, it translates rather similarly to Draco in your language." 

"How so?"  She demanded, crossing her arms and planting her feet shoulder-width apart.  If he was amused by her mood, he didn't show it.  

"Doesn't your story of the beginning of man have a silver-tongued snake in it?"  He drawled, stepping closer to her.  As a reflex, she took a step back.  "Your kind uses snake allegory quite frequently." 

"Yes, but I don't know how that-" 

"Think, Granger.  We don't have a word for snake in my language." 

"Oh.  So a dragon is a synonym to "silver-tongue"?"  She asked curiously; her hunger for knowledge overrode her nervousness.  

"Not really,"  he murmured; the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk played around the corners of his mouth.  "But, Draco is as close to it as your clumsy tongue is going to get." 

Completely unbidden, an angry flush settled over her chest and cheeks at his borderline indecent statement.  She had to force herself to concentrate as he focused all of his attention on her, his smug gaze smoldering at her from across the room.  Hermione ignored the frisson of heat that raced down her spine, and determinedly took another sip of the overly-sweet juice, trying to organize her thoughts.  She turned and walked over to the nearest chair, her gaze never leaving him as she gingerly sat down.  She hadn't realized how tired she was until she'd stopped moving.  She forced her thoughts back to the subject at hand and glanced up to see that Draco was still smirking at her.  

"Flustered, human?" 

"Not for a minute.  What the hell is the Old Magic?"  She demanded, her fear and irritation winding once again through her veins so quickly that she didn't even think before she flung her question at him.  

"It's magic that's very old-" he started, watching her with a mixture of lazy amusement and irritation.  

"Sod off."  

"Gladly, as soon as you figure out how," he shot back, but his tone didn't hold any of the venom that she was used to.  

Hermione crossed her arms.  "So what happens to you when the moon isn't out?" 

Draco surveyed her, tapping his finger against his bicep as he thought.  "I go dormant.  I can still hear and see everything, but-" 

He cut off, turning on his heel and putting his back to her.  Hermione could see his expression in the stained glass of the window, and her brow furrowed in confusion.  His mien flitted between angry and helpless more times than she could count.  

"But what?"  She asked slowly, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair so hard that her knuckles turned white from the pressure. 

"There's another fae's magic at play here," he said finally, still turned away from her,  "They're more powerful than I am.  Their power competes with mine." 

"Wait, you said that Draco -that you- have some fae blood in you, is that what you meant?"  She asked breathlessly, her mind whirring quickly through the new information.  

"There must have been a changeling in his bloodline somewhere,"  Draco muttered, flicking his silver hair out of his eyes as he surveyed her over his shoulder.  "I can fight against the magic all I want, the only thing that gets through is fury.  Hence why I can't help but act like a fucking cun-" 

"That's quite enough," she said sharply, standing up and surveying him.  "You can feel sorry for yourself later."  

"How about we change places, and then you can tell me off for being pissed off at the situation," he said coldly, his eyes growing flintier by the second.  

She didn't miss the fact that he didn't apologize for his behavior. 

"Point taken.  So that's why you're such a tosser," Hermione muttered, raking a hand through her curls.  "Nothing about this makes sense-" 

"Why would it?  It goes against your world's logic!"  He interrupted her, pacing back in forth in front of the window like a caged animal.  "You have to think in riddles,  _that's_  how it works." 

Hermione sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him. "Look, we can agree on the fact that we're constantly at odds with each other.  Don't interrupt me, Malfoy," she added, glaring at him as he opened his mouth to retort, "But you need to stop acting like we're enemies.  We're both on the line here." 

"And whose fault is that?"  He drawled, throwing her a look filled with derision.  

"No thanks to you," she said darkly, ignoring his huff of surprise as she strode forwards and slammed her goblet down on the fine table, leaving a small indent in the wood.  "You haven't moved a finger to help me.  And you aren’t even hiding the fact that you’re pretending to be two different people!"

"Why should I?"  He asked quietly.  His tone darkened, and she suppressed a shiver as danger began to radiate off of his skin.  

“It took me a while to figure out how to even use the magic-“

“Good.  Hurry up and set me free, then.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“And why is that..?”  He asked quietly, watching her intently with his odd eyes. 

"Because we're both going to die if I can't find a way to save us both," she whispered, massaging her temples, "I found a book, a journal, really, and it's got something in it that I think that you should know about." 

"Spit it out then," he drawled, throwing himself gracefully into a plush armchair and putting his feet up on the matching stool,  "Why do you think that?" 

"Well, for starters, your mother begged me to save your life and then showed me that I'm also dying," she said bitterly, already exhausted and annoyed by the conversation.  "And if I wasn't in danger, I might tell her to stuff-"

"Don't lie to me," he snarled, his tone deepening into fury as he sat bolt upright.  She was reminded of a cat about to pounce, and she hastily took a step back as his cold gaze bore into her.  "Don't you fucking lie to me-" 

"I'm not!  She spoke to me-" 

"Don't say another word,"  he said lowly, closing his eyes and fighting to keep calm.  She watched, frozen with curiosity and fear, as a muscle in his jaw worked and he finally opened his eyes to look at her. 

"It's impossible, given that my mother has been missing for nearly two hundred of your years," he said firmly, regarding her with a mixture of suspicion and distrust, "She was reportedly trapped by a human.  There's no way that you could speak to her-" 

"Does the name Tom Riddle mean anything to you?"  She interrupted loudly; her mouth parted in surprise as he stiffened and looked at her with a new expression in his eyes.  She'd never seen him look like this before; if she didn't know better, she would have guessed that he was terrified.  

"Explain to me how you know that name," he said quietly, his knuckles whitening against his goblet.  "Granger-" 

"It's the book.  It was his.  There's a drawing in it that was inked in Fae blood- and it moved!" 

“Show me!”  He demanded, springing to his feet and darting over to her so fast that she could have sworn that he’d teleported. 

“I can’t-“ she blurted, scrambling backwards until her back hit the wall with a thump,  “I need it.”

“The hell you do,” he breathed, his bright eyes alight with something that she could only have described as panic, “That book is going to get us killed.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a bloody horcrux, is what it is-“

“What the hell is a horcrux?!”

“It doesn’t matter.  Tell me where it is-“

“That book is the only clue that I have to using your magic, we _need_ it!” Hermione retorted, pressing herself further into the stone as he took another step towards her. 

A foot away, he stopped, and simply watched her with an expression that almost looked…disappointed?

“That man is responsible for the murder of dozens of my kind,” Draco finally said softly, glancing down at his hands as he spoke.  “My mother isn't the first, or the last Seelie to fall into his trap; it’s a guaranteed, horrible death to answer his call.”

Hermione took a good look at him, and despite her instincts telling her to leave it alone, gingerly reached out and touched his hand.  His head snapped up to look her in the eye, but he didn’t move. 

She dropped her hand and sighed, raking her curls off of her face. 

“Look, we’re working with borrowed time here.  I need your help.  We can’t get anything done if we’re constantly at each other’s throats.  Until I can use the magic without using the information that's contained within the book, I can't give it up.”

“Fine,” he said shortly, taking a step backwards and pivoting on his heel.  He stopped dead in his tracks as she spoke her next sentence. 

"Wait." 

"What?"

“I’m proposing a new deal, because that’s the language that you work with.  If you help me learn how to use your magic, I will find a way to set your mother free from the book,” Hermione whispered, unsure if he would agree.  Her heart beat unsteadily in her chest, and she bit her lip with worry as his silence stretched well past a minute. 

“You have no idea what you just offered me,” he said quietly, turning to look at her with a look that, if he were anyone else, would have been shock tempered with respect. 

“And yet, here I am,” she replied simply, holding out her hand to shake.  When he stared at it with confusion, she flapped it impatiently at him.  “This is how we make deals in the human world.”

His eyes narrowed, and she was just about to withdraw her hand and move away when his hand slowly came up and clasped hers. 

“Very well.  I accept your deal.  Now, why the hell did you barge in here?”

She let out a long, relieved breath.  “Okay, good.  We have a problem.  You need to make sure that you aren’t under the control of the other fae when the moon isn’t out, I overheard Father Albus and Horace talking about how a special inquisitor from the Vatican may be brought here to look at you.  They have a safe house that they may force you into-”

He made a small sound of derision, until he caught a glimpse of the expression on her face.  “What, Granger?”

“That means interrogation, possible torture, and _iron_ ,” she said firmly, clenching her jaw as his face paled.  It made him look sickly and grey, and he ran a frantic hand through his hair.  She couldn’t help but agree with his whispered oath, and closed her eyes in order to think. 

“What if you wear the charm all the time?”

“Someone’s going to notice if I start glowing,” Draco retorted, raising one eyebrow at her and crossing his arms.  “Try again.”

She glowered at him.  “Fine.  Come up with a better idea then.  If you can't stick with one personality then we're as good as dead.”

“Find a way to infuse moonlight into the medicine that you and Slughorn are always trying to force down my throat,” he said simply, smirking at her as her jaw dropped. 

“That’s actually genius!”  She murmured, striding over to the moon charm and staring at the light that was still pulsing from the metal.  “In the meantime, you _need_ to wear this.”

“No.”

“Wear it under your shirt,” she said firmly, glaring at him. 

“Fine.  I’ll see you when the sun goes down, then.”

“Why..?”  She asked slowly, unsure what he was getting at. 

“We have work to do, Granger.  Now, get out of my rooms.”


	8. The Old Magic

The forest was cold. 

Hermione’s finger tapped impatiently against her bicep as she waited for Draco.  With an exhausted groan, she let her head fall back against the great oak that supported her as she sat in the middle of the Duke’s forest.  She rolled her head over the rough bark, trying desperately to keep herself from passing out. 

At her flash of movement, Norbert lipped at her sleeve searching for treats, and she absentmindedly patted his soft nose as he blew a warm puff of air over her hand. 

 _I shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night_ , she thought drowsily, trying to force her molasses-slow thoughts into motion. 

She would have given just about anything to rest, but she knew better than to ignore Draco, especially when he’d promised to meet her in the forest at dusk.  Warily, she watched the horizon, tracing the sight of the rapidly waning moon as it rose over the skyline.  Hermione couldn’t squash her yawn, and she tiredly forced her eyes back open. 

_He’s late. Damn him.  I’ll wait for another half an hour, but if he doesn’t show up, I’m going to get in my bed and sleep like a house fell on me.  He can figure out the moon magic himself._

Even her thoughts sounded exhausted. 

Hermione had spent the afternoon with Slughorn, working through the recipes of new concoctions that the doctor wanted to try out on Draco.  She’d managed to talk him out of using leeches, but only just.  She’d been terrified that Draco would bleed silver, and she knew without a doubt that it would bring hellfire down upon their heads if it were the case.   

_“Leeches!  We haven’t tried those yet!”  Slughorn had thundered excitedly, flipping through his journal._

_Hermione’s blood had run cold, and her jaw had flapped open._

_“Horace, I have it on good authority from the young Lord Potter that the Earl is deathly afraid of leeches,” she’d lied quickly, trying her hardest to keep her expression neutral._

_“Really?”  Slughorn had asked slowly, regarding her over his spectacles.  “Hermione, you are aware that we, as his physicians, are well within our rights to ignore anything so silly as a fear of leeches.”_

_“Yes,” she’d said carefully.  Her mind had spun in circles as she’d scrambled for a good excuse.  “However, Lord Draco is reluctant enough as it is to allow us to treat him.  I’m concerned that taking a more drastic approach to his medical plan might cause him to reject our efforts completely.”_

_“Ah, well put,” Slughorn had mused, stroking his long, impressive moustache.  “I will consult with the Duke.  In the meantime, please research the side-effects of mandrake root.”_

_“Of course,” she’d replied, thanking whatever gods were listening that he’d bought her bluff._

Then, after Slughorn had bustled away to meet with the Duke and report their lack of progress, she’d made her way down to the stables to meet Harry. 

His cheerful nature had come as a welcome change of pace, and she’d laughed along with him as easily as she would have with Ron.  It was a relief to finally feel the warmth of mirth winding along her muscles; it had loosened the knot of worry that had taken up permanent residence in her belly.

They’d passed three hours with a long, much-needed ride.  Harry had thoughtfully brought along a fresh loaf of soft bread and a large chunk of sharp cheese wrapped in wax.  After a small picnic, they had bid each other farewell and gone their separate ways. 

Under the cover of the rapidly approaching dusk, Hermione had slipped unseen into the forest, trailing a very tired and unusually docile Norbert in her wake.  She’d found the largest oak in the forest and had slumped down next to it to wait. 

 _Here I am, waiting for a fairy to grace me with his presence_ , she thought irritably.

Draco seemed to have a flair for the dramatic; she figured that her chances of him finding her were good if she chose a location that a fae was likely to gravitate to. 

A small bottle of wine was still in Hermione’s pocket from the picnic, and she took a sip, hoping fervently that it would warm her cold limbs.  Every sip of the bitter liquid brought her thoughts back to the night before.  Unconsciously, her hand rubbed over her collarbone, tracing along the line that had burned like wildfire along her skin as Narcissa’s magic had overwhelmed her. 

“What have you blundered into, Hermione?”  She muttered, cradling her head in her hands.  “I can’t see how this is going to end well.”

Somehow, stating the obvious didn’t make her feel better.

Without her consent, her thoughts began to shoot every which way.  She sighed.  It was no use trying to relax, she had too much to mull over. 

She was too wired to fall asleep now.  Her mind whirred quickly over what she’d learned in the last day.  Carefully, she parsed through the new information, inspecting each piece of the puzzle thoroughly before moving onto the next.   Emotions bubbled up in her belly and bled into her chest as she made her way through the confusing jumble of information, but one of them in particular became a common theme.

Quite frankly, she was angry. 

_Draco’s an insufferable git, Slughorn is hiding something, and Father Albus may have been using me all along.  Does everyone at this court have a dirty secret?_

_I’m dying.  I’m twenty-one bloody years old, and I’m dying-_

Norbert let out a quiet nicker, and she nearly jumped with surprise.  His interruption had stopped her self-pitying thoughts in their tracks, and she scratched his ears as his giant head descended towards her.  His soft brown eye blinked slowly at her as she petted him, and she made a small face at her reflection in its glassy surface.

She could have swum in the dark circles under her eyes, but Norbert’s nose insistently prodding against her hand for more affection pulled her right out of the bottomless whirlpool that held her darkest thoughts. 

 _Sometimes all you need is an insistent horse to make you feel better_ , she thought wistfully.  Norbert stepped several feet away to chew at some frosty grass, and as soon as his warmth lifted away from her lap, she was left with her thoughts once again. 

Her nails bit into her palms as she considered Slughorn and Dumbledore’s conversation.  It may have just been paranoia, but a new fear had taken root in her belly.

_Am I a fool?  Have I been so obvious about my secret that it made me a target?_

_What if Father Albus knew about my secret the whole time?  Did he bring me here to banish Gwaethe, or was it from some kind of scheming, misguided attempt to save my soul?_

_If that’s the case, who else knows?_

_Draco never took my soul, but I suspect that I might be damned either way._

Shivering, she hugged her knees to her chest.    The temperature outside was rapidly dropping, and it wasn’t long before she could see her breath puffing out around her head.  She wrapped her cloak more closely around her body. 

Just as she was about to give up on the whole thing and seek refuge in her warm bed, the sound of soft footsteps crossing over freshly frozen leaves made her stiffen.  Her head whirled around, and she wasn’t sure whether she should sigh with relief as Draco carefully made his way towards her. 

He belonged in the forest, of that she was sure.  With his silver eyes and hair, he was nearly identical to how he’d looked during their first encounter.  Unbidden, her gaze darted downwards, and she let out a tiny huff of amusement. 

“Something funny, Granger?”  Draco said quietly, narrowing his eyes at her and lifting one frosty eyebrow at her mirth. 

“You wear shoes now,” she replied quietly, gesturing under the warmth of her cloak at his now booted feet.  For some strange reason, it was very satisfying to see him display some kind of human weakness.  A small part of her mind wondered if he actually felt the cold at all, or if the remnants of his magic kept him warm. 

Somehow, she doubted that he wore them for fashion. 

Draco’s expression darkened at her dry observation, and he flung himself into a cross-legged position opposite her, half-heartedly glaring at her.  “You have bigger problems to worry about than my choice of footwear,” he said bluntly. 

She forcibly bit down on the inside of her cheek to avoid saying something nasty in return.  He had a gift for getting under her skin, and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of snapping back.  She sighed, pushing her hair off of her face. 

“Thank you for coming.  I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up,” she muttered, forcing an expression of neutrality onto her face. 

“I told you that I would be here,” he said very matter-of-factly, inspecting a frosty leaf and purposefully not looking at her. 

She decided to ignore that. 

“Did anyone see you leave the palace?”  She asked abruptly, darting a glance into the rapidly darkening forest. 

“No.  I left orders that I wasn’t to be disturbed,” he replied simply, his gaze snapping up to study her.  “Your charm worked.  I wasn’t dormant during the day.”

Her breath left her lungs in a loud sigh of relief.  Some of the tension drained out of her shoulders and she felt a wan smile slide across her mouth.  “Good.  At least I’ve made some progress.”

He didn’t reply.  For several long moments, the silence stretched out between them.  It was strange, but oddly comfortable to sit in silence with him.  For once there was no fighting, no threats, and certainly no pressure to pretend to be someone that she wasn’t. 

There was something looming over them, however, and she needed to get it off of her chest. 

“Gwaethe,” she began carefully, unsure how exactly she was going to word what she was about to say.  “I really should apologize to you.”

His silver-flecked eyes nearly glowed in the half-darkness as he trained all of his attention on her.  He didn’t say a word, and for that she was immensely grateful.  She plowed onwards, trying desperately to say what she had spent nearly an hour trying to compose in her head. 

“For summoning you in the first place, I mean.  I shouldn’t have treated your summoning as an experiment.  I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I think that you deserve an apology.”

His expression softened a mite, and she determinedly kept talking, trying desperately to get her point across and make peace with him.  “I was a child, and reckless, and so determined to prove that I was right that I unknowingly put us on the path of destruction.  That’s what I’m sorry for.”

Draco’s enigmatic expression could have meant any number of things: shock, acceptance, gratitude.  But, just as she was about to decipher the cast of his face, a stony veil descended over his eyes and his mien hardened into a mocking, sarcastic smirk. 

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.  His hair flashed in the moonlight, and she frowned, unsure as to why he was suddenly laughing so hard that his shoulders shook. 

“What?”  She demanded, dropping all sense of guilt and embarrassment as he chuckled.  All that she felt was annoyance, and that annoyed her even further.

_Does he think that I’m lying?_

“You really think that your strange little tune is what summons my kind? What kind of legends are spreading in this century?”  He smirked at her, every inch a predator as he moved closer to her.  He stopped mere inches from her feet and cocked his head; his piercing gaze bore into her so intensely that she was forced to look away. 

“So what brought you there?” she whispered, feeling more than a little bit discombobulated as she took in the new information. 

“I was searching for something.”

“I don’t understand why my summoning would have brought you there when you were searching-“

“The melody-” he interrupted her, raising one hand and pointing to his chest, “- is one that my mother used to sing that to me.  She made a bargain with some Faroe people a thousand years ago, and they worshiped her as a goddess.  That’s why I heeded your silly call.  You got lucky.”

Alarm bells began to ring in her head.  There was something off about what he’d said. 

“You told me that there is an ancient law-“ She began hotly. 

“There is an ancient law, but I used my birthright to-“ He stopped talking abruptly and crossed his arms.  “Forget that I said that.  It’s none of your business”

Hermione was too flabbergasted to pay attention to what he’d said.  “I thought you couldn’t lie.”

“I can’t.  I should have known better than to choose the one who was singing -terribly, I might add.  I couldn’t have made a bigger mistake,” he muttered, his lip curling into a tiny sneer. 

Her blood boiled in her veins, and it was all she could do to stop herself from jumping to her feet and leaving.  The tiny, rational part of her brain informed her that a reaction like that was probably what he was after.  Instead, she gave into her stubborn nature and dug her heels in. 

_There is no way that I’m leaving without some answers tonight._

“Can’t you just accept my apology?”  She snapped, leaning forwards.  “You’re always so _rude_.”

“Probably not,” he said evasively, avoiding her gaze as he crossed his arms.  “You offended me in the worst way possible.  I may never be able to accept an apology.”

“Will you ever be able to try?”  She whispered, fighting against the exhausted tears that prickled behind her eyes. “You’re certain that you can’t ever believe me?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, his gaze flicking up to finally meet hers.  “If I feel that I can trust you fully, I’ll try.”

“And in the meantime?”

“We’re allies,” he said simply, tilting his head to inspect her.  “We have no choice.”

“Allies don’t treat each other like this,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the bitter tang of embarrassment that flooded into her mouth. 

Draco surveyed her through his sooty eyelashes, and Hermione was just about to pick herself up by the bootstraps and leave, when he put a hand out towards her.  If she didn’t know better, she would have taken it as a small gesture of supplication. 

The severe look in his ancient eyes softened slightly as she stared at him. 

“Alright, I’ll be civil.  However, I reserve the right to argue my side if I disagree with your tendency to blunder in and take charge,” he acquiesced, watching her through the silvery fall of his hair. 

Hermione didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded. 

She supposed that it wouldn’t get any better than that.  It was better to pick and choose her battles, and she considered this one to be won, despite its stipulations.

“Fine.  Will you answer some of my questions?”

“If they’re relevant,” he agreed quietly. 

“Who exactly is your mother?”  Hermione began, trying to ignore the unsettling way that her heart beat against her ribs.  

He waved a dismissive hand.  “You have all kinds of names for her.  Titania, Queen Mab, the list goes on.  They’re all ridiculous.  She’s a powerful fae, that’s all you need to know.”

“She’s a queen?”

He shrugged, mulling over his words as he spoke.  “Not quite.  We don’t use the same titles, but I suppose that her rank would be closer to an empress.”

“She told me that her name is Narcissa,” Hermione said quietly, raising one eyebrow in quiet surprise as his jaw dropped.  “Is that her real name?”

He clamped his mouth shut immediately, but not fast enough for her not to clue into the significance of Narcissa’s trust in her. 

“Gwaethe, can I ask you something else, something that’s not necessarily relevant?” 

She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth as he slowly nodded at her.  “Why wouldn’t you just let me die?  Would that return your magic to you?”

“No,” he murmured, tearing a leaf to shreds between his long, pale fingers.  “The magic would dissipate.  The balance would still be lost.”

“Oh.”

“I confess that I considered it,” Draco admitted.  His hands stilled on the new leaf that he was currently playing with.  “But I came quickly to the conclusion that it wouldn’t help anything.”

Hermione laughed; it was a sharp and bitter sound.  There was no mirth in her tone, and she couldn’t help the incredulous grin that spread across her mouth.  “If we’re being honest, I was trying to find a way to destroy you when I stumbled across your mother.”

The sound that he made caused her to look up in alarm, but she was shocked to see that he was laughing.  Not the mocking, haughty sound that she was used to, but a genuine laugh that was warm and full of life. 

Something strange fluttered in her chest.  She immediately squashed it, hoping fervently that he hadn’t seen anything awkward flit across her expression. 

“You’ve got more fire in you than I expected,” Draco drawled, still watching her with thinly veiled amusement. 

She glared at him. 

“Any more questions?”  He shot back, smirking at her. 

“I think that I need to understand more about your culture and your magic,” Hermione said bluntly, putting up a hand to stop him from protesting as his expression grew thunderous.  “Don’t interrupt me.  I’m not asking for the secrets of your kind, just everything that could help us.”

Draco glowered at her for a moment before heaving a long, dramatic sigh.  “Fine.  What do you want to know?”

“Why can’t you lie?”  She asked immediately, sitting up straighter and hugging her knees to her chest for warmth.  Her teeth clacked together from the cold, and she nearly jumped with surprise as Norbert knelt down next to her, settling his warm side against her shivering body.  She breathed a sigh of relief and patted him affectionately.  Draco regarded the horse for a long moment before answering.

“It’s complicated,” he admitted, reaching out and gently stroking Norbert’s nose.  The horse huffed affectionately at the Earl, and nudged his hand for more attention.  “We are all, in essence, a creature that exists to simply be.  One cannot go against their nature if they weren’t created to be deceptive.”

Hermione’s brain whirled.  She thought for a long moment before responding. 

“So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have the capacity to be deceptive?  Or is it the case that you simply cannot willingly bring yourself to lie?  Your logic stipulates that humans were created with the willingness to lie as opposed to the Fae who aren’t given a choice-”

His mouth slid into a wolfish grin.  “Neither of those assumptions are correct.  I can mislead, misdirect, or choose not to give an answer, but if I am forced to answer directly, I must.  Humans have a looser interpretation of the theory, one that is rooted in the concept of free will.”

“So you don’t have free will?”

“Of course I do,” was the dry response.  Draco’s eyes glittered at her as he waited for her retort.

_I have no idea what to do with that.  I don’t have to be right all the time…right?_

Hermione couldn’t ignore the tiny voice in her head that quietly informed her that she couldn’t win this argument.  Despite her pride pressing at her to continue the debate, she nodded.  She wasn’t used to being this out of her depth, and quite frankly, it shook her. 

Draco’s expression didn’t change, but the corners of his eyes tightened.  As per usual, she had no idea what that meant. 

“I don’t understand,” she admitted, looking down at her interlaced fingers.  “I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it.  You think differently than I do.”

A small chuckle made her look up. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere,” Draco said affably, smirking at her confusion.  “You may actually convince me that you’re smarter than I thought you were.”

“Thanks..?”  Hermione said slowly, making a mental note to write down everything that he’d said.  _When he mentioned that I should be thinking in riddles to understand him, he wasn’t kidding._

He made a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a huff.

“Your politics must be a nightmare,” Hermione said quietly, half under her breath as she thought.

“I don’t agree.  They’re far more complex than yours; however they follow a very clear set of rules.  The way that we conduct our government is rather dependent on magic,” Draco said airily, twining yet another leaf around his fingers. 

“How so?”

His eyes narrowed.  “Firstly, there are two courts.  Secondly, everything is conducted by tradition, and thirdly, it’s a pain to explain and I don’t feel like wasting my breath.”

She huffed out a surprised laugh, and he paused.  A flicker of something that wasn’t disdain or hatred passed over his still-narrowed eyes, and Hermione suddenly found herself transfixed by the way that he was looking at her. 

Hurriedly, she blinked. 

She coughed awkwardly.  “So, which court do you belong to?”

“The Seelie,” he replied casually, crumbling yet another leaf to dust between his fingers. 

“What’s the other one?”

“The Unseelie,” he said, just as nonchalantly, glaring at her as she smirked.  “What?”

“The names aren’t what I was expecting,” she explained, shrugging. 

He watched her in silence for a long moment, and Hermione wasn’t sure whether she should break the silence.  Her blood rushed through her face, and she was about to stammer out an apology when he nodded curtly.  She took a deep breath in through her nose, suddenly nervous.

“So,” he said seriously, watching her so closely that she got the distinct impression that he was studying the way that her heart beat irregularly in her chest.  “I think you also owe me some answers.”

“What?”

“Since you asked me several questions, I see no reason why you shouldn’t answer a few of mine.”

His tone darkened, and she couldn’t suppress the nervous shudder that trickled down her spine.  She nodded briskly, watching him warily. 

“First off, were you aware of Tom Riddle before you came here?”  He asked bluntly, watching her like a hawk.

She gulped.  “No.  I’ve never even heard of him before I found the diary, although, that’s not unusual given that I’m from-“

“Do you know what he was after?”  He interrupted her, obviously satisfied with her answer.  Distantly, Hermione wondered if she should have lied to him. 

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s connected to a man called Nicholas Flamel,” she muttered.  Her brows scrunched together into a frown as she thought.  “I found something in the diary that mentioned a rivalry between the two men.  I’m not sure if it’s the same Flamel who wrote some of the occult books in Horace’s library, but it might not be a coincidence.”

“Flamel…”  Draco murmured thoughtfully, his expression softening slightly as he tapped a finger against his knee.  “I’ve heard the name before.  One of the court nobles, perhaps.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that he might be important, or at the very least, be able to help us find out how to give you your magic back-“ Hermione cut off as Draco suddenly shifted, moving closer to her. 

Her heartbeat stuttered, and she felt her palms immediately begin to sweat despite the cold as his back came to rest against Norbert’s side.  She was intensely aware of the nearly imperceptible press of his arm against hers as her pulse thundered through her veins. 

Whether it was from fear or something else, she had no idea.  Distantly, she heard him talking, so softly that it was barely a whisper. 

“You _cannot_ let anyone know about me,” he said insistently, his silvery eyes boring into hers.  “I’m defenseless-“

“Not if I’m around,” she interrupted breathlessly, trying in vain to calm her reeling mind.  “I’ll find out who he is and ask him questions myself-“

“No, it concerns my life; I won’t leave anything up to chance.  You don’t know enough about the magic yet.” 

“So _teach_ me!”  She half-yelled, savouring her tiny flash of triumph as his eyes widened.  “I can’t help you if you’re trying to block me at every turn!  You’re the key to deciphering the magic, so stop trying to worm your way out of revealing any information!  You’re harming both of us by being so evasive!”

He blinked several times; he was clearly discombobulated.  Finally, after the silence had stretched out to an uncomfortable length of time, he sighed and ran a hand over his hair. 

“Very well, you have a point, _sam’eseha_.  Let’s start with the Old Magic.”

She nodded curtly at him and suppressed a huff of annoyance.  It wasn’t an apology, but at least it was a start. 

He paused for a moment.  Finally, just as she was about to say something to prompt him, he palmed an acorn that had fallen at the base of the great oak.  Hermione watched closely as he drew a rough square, quickly separating it into two even rectangles with an etched line down the middle. 

“The passage of time is different here from the Seelie realm, but I believe that you would think of the time frame of the story as taking place about three thousand years ago,” he began softly, tracing the lines in the dirt with one pale finger. 

Hermione sat quietly, trying her hardest to be patient.  _It was hard enough to convince him to tell me, so I’d better wait until the end to ask questions._  

He glanced up at her, his gaze raking over her face before he continued, gesturing minutely at his small diagram.  “Our worlds were aligned so closely that my kind could freely pass over into your realm and stay here for extended lengths of time.  Humans who encountered us would often take us for gods, which is why your world’s mythology follows the same story over and over again.”

“My people have always been fascinated by yours; it served their curiosity to stay in your realm and study your kind.  It wasn’t long before we discovered that your world had a well of power that was very different from our own.  So, some chose to make their home here.  Some came to study your magic, others came to be worshipped.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot upwards.  At the very last second, she managed to bit back a barrage of questions and waited for him to continue. 

 “I’m oversimplifying the details, I’ll have you know.  Eventually, it became common practice for Fae to make certain…promises to humans in exchange for gifts and knowledge.  Common choices were political power, money, love, and weapons.  Sometimes, a fae would see fit to give a human magic to accomplish a task.  In exchange, the fae could ask for whatever they wanted in return.  Perhaps it was our arrogance, well it was more likely your kind’s greed that led to-“

She’d accidentally made a small sound of protest, but quickly clamped her mouth shut as his eyes flashed with annoyance. 

“-conflict between our two worlds.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once a fae gift is given, it cannot be taken back; not if it was given willingly.  I’m bound by oath to keep certain secrets, but what I can tell you, is that there were three brothers who abused the power that was given to them.”

“What did they do?”

“Give me a moment, I’m getting there.  As much as I appreciate that you’re clever, it’s irksome when you keep trying to interrupt me.”

Hermione felt a flush of warmth at his words.  _Wait, does that mean that he’s starting to trust me a little bit?_

“They received three gifts.  One brother got a tool which was a conduit of Earth magic, another a stone that could partially reverse the passage of time, and the last brother received a shaed.”

Using the acorn, he drew a strange symbol into the dirt.  A line, a triangle, and a circle all melded together to form a runelike shape that was both unfamiliar and puzzling to look at.  Hermione twisted her neck around to look at it, unable to supress her curiosity. 

“A what?” 

Draco shrugged.  “It’s a cloak made of shadows and starlight.  It takes years to weave one.  In our realm it is a sentient being.  In yours, it makes the wearer invisible.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped.  “What happened to the brothers?”

“The story says that they went on to conquer all of their enemies and vanquish every foe that challenged them.  They became greedy after there was nothing else left to take.  The power gifted by my kind wasn’t enough for them, so they sought ways to gain more.  It wasn’t long before they discovered that the Fae realm was an infinite well of magic that was unlike anything that they’d been able to use here.  Using their Fae gifts, they began to gather up and capture every Seelie and Unseelie that they could get their dirty hands on.”

His tone had darkened, and his eyes flashed in the moonlight.  As she stared at his face, enraptured by the story, the silver of his irises had darkened to a steely grey.  In the half-light, he appeared alien; he looked every inch the powerful, otherworldly creature that he was. 

Strangely, for the first time, Hermione didn’t feel any fear at the sight. 

“How many did they capture?”  She asked quietly, more than a little afraid of what the answer could be.

He sighed.  “I can’t tell you that.”

“Just nod or shake your head,” she murmured.  Her heart was in her throat as she faced him directly, suddenly very aware that her hunger for knowledge was what had trapped the ethereal fae who sat quietly next to her.  “What you don’t actually say doesn’t break the rules, right?”

He looked taken aback for a second, but quickly recovered and dipped his head just slightly. 

“Was it more than a hundred?” 

He nodded. 

“Two hundred?”

A nod once again was the response.

“More than three hundred?”

He nodded again, and she had to look away from his intense gaze. 

“The fae are powerful, how could they have been taken so easily?”

“I don’t know.  I’m not old enough to have been there,” he murmured, toying with the acorn that he still held. 

Her heart ached with pity for the hundreds of Fae who’d suffered at the hands of these three brothers.  A trickle of anger wound through her veins as her brain conjured dark imaginings. 

_No wonder he hates my kind so much.  Why would he have faith in any of us?_

“So they wanted to be able to use Fae magic, instead of Earth magic?” She asked softly, unconsciously tugging at a curl that had escaped from her braid.

“Not just use it.  They wanted to be in control of _all_ magic.”  

A muscle in Draco’s jaw clenched, and Hermione sucked in a shocked breath.

“To what end?  They already had so much,” she whispered breathlessly.  “Why?

Draco snorted quietly.  “Apparently they believed that they would be the masters of life and death.  You made a similar mistake, didn’t you?  You wanted more than you had, which is why you summoned me in the first place.”

His tone was bitter.  She didn’t blame him one bit. 

Hermione’s stomach did a queasy little backflip, and she couldn’t squash the shiver of unease that rippled down her spine.  She pulled her cloak closer to her body and worriedly clenched her fists in the sturdy wool.  “What happened to them?”

“There was a cabal secretly working to bring down the brothers, according to the story.  Two of your kind and two of mine made a deal with the intent to separate our worlds.” 

“What kind of deal?” 

“The two humans -Salazar and Helga were their names- managed to free two of the oldest and most powerful Seelie.  The two Fae were called Godric and Rowena.  Together, they combined our two magics to seal our worlds on either side of a barrier that they called the Veil.”

Hermione frowned.  He caught sight of her expression in the half-darkness and smirked. 

“Clearly it didn’t quite work.  They were found out by the brothers.  Just as the four were finishing the spell, the youngest brother threw off the shaed that he’d donned and killed Helga.  The magic was left incomplete.”

“The other three managed to escape and gave up their corporeal forms to provide the magic that was needed to maintain the barrier between the two worlds.  Helga’s absence is what allows for small portals into your world, and vice versa.  To maintain the balance between the two realms, they became what is known as the Old Magic.”

“So the Old Magic is…people?”

“In a sense.  They don’t have forms that can die, so they simply watch to ensure that the balance is kept.  They are powerful enough to inflict judgement upon those who break the laws, but they cannot act directly and without cause.”

“What about the magic-“

“I can’t tell you anymore.  I’ve probably told you too much already,” Draco interrupted firmly, quickly sweeping the rune and square away with the palm of his hand. 

“So, I’ve angered the gods that keep our worlds separate,” Hermione breathed, trying to wrap her brain around the story.  Her heartbeat raced, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to calm her fear. 

“They’re not gods-“

Her eyes snapped open as Draco made a small sound of frustration.  Her gaze raked over his face as he clenched his fists and stared straight up at the moon. 

“I can’t tell you any more than I already have.  But believe me, there’s more to the Old Magic than that,” he said carefully, choosing every word very deliberately. 

“Thank you,” she said honestly, smiling wanly.  “That’s a lot more than I knew an hour ago.  Every little bit that you can tell me will help.  Can I ask one more question?”

He threw her an exasperated look.  “Fine.”

“What happened to the brothers?  Afterwards, I mean.”

His eyes narrowed, and he shot to his feet, brushing dirt off of his splendidly-woven cloak.  Norbert huffed with annoyance as dirt rained down on his glossy coat. 

“You don’t need to know,” he replied evasively, letting annoyance bleed into his tone and colour every word.  He turned on his heel and left her behind.  

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, and she drew back into her cloak, looking everywhere but at him.  She wasn’t going to admit it, but she was hurt by his sudden change of heart.  As he strode into the darkness, she chastised herself for assuming that they were friends.  It would take time to build trust, and now she was beginning to understand the magnitude of what she’d done all of those years ago.

_Rome wasn’t built in a day, Hermione._

Her head snapped up and she jumped to her feet as something occurred to her.  She ran after Draco, heedless of the fact that her legs were almost entirely numb due to the cold.  He whirled to face her as she darted up to him, panting hard.  Her breath puffed out of her mouth in a cloud as she braced her hands on her knees. 

“Wait-“ she puffed, sucking in a deep breath as he stared at her.  “We need to plan how you’re going to go about staging your recovery.”

“I don’t need to plan anything-“

“Shut up, please.  Yes you do.  I barely managed to stop Slughorn from attaching leeches to your arm this afternoon-“

His eyes widened, and she savoured the flicker of satisfaction that was elicited by his reaction. 

“-so yes, you absolutely need to find a reason to avoid any drastic measures.  We still have the issue of the Church-“

“Fine,” he interrupted, crossing his arms.  “What do you suggest?”

“If I’m the one to administer you a fake cure, then it’ll make sense for us to be seen together all the time,” she offered, almost cracking a small smile as his impassive expression softened slightly. 

“Why would I want to be seen with you?”  He asked flippantly, regarding her with a look so haughty that it nearly made her blood boil. 

She took a deep breath, glad that she could breathe again.  “The more time that we spend together, the faster we’ll be able to come up with a solution to our problem.  It’s not my idea of a good time, but it is what it is.  I don’t fancy the thought of dying, do you?”

He scowled.  “Very well.  Bring something to my chambers in the morning.  I believe that the charm will have enough moonlight to last until then.”

Draco turned on his heel and strode into the darkness once more.   She cupped her hands around her mouth and called to him.  “Hey!  Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where you’re not going to follow me,” he replied, clearly more than a little smug as he continued into the darkness. 

It took everything that she had not to rise to the barb.  She stood in silence, watching him move farther and farther away until the reflection of his silver hair shining in the moonlight winked out of view.  Hermione let out a long, exhausted breath and glanced up at the moon. 

“Every little bit of progress is still better than nothing,” she reminded herself softly, treading carefully through the silver-dappled forest. 

Her walk back through the trees was uneventful, and she moved slowly, unable to deny the exhaustion in her limbs.  Now that all of her adrenaline had ebbed away, Hermione wanted nothing more than to sleep. 

She returned to Norbert, and he huffed affectionately in her face and lipped at her hair.  She buried her face in his mane and finally allowed the wave of anxiety and uncertainty that she’d crushed down deep to well up inside of her. 

_What am I going to do?  How on earth am I going to do any of this?  I have so many questions, and I don’t know if I can solve this riddle before the Old Magic overpowers me._

Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, holding onto Norbert’s mane and warm neck as if he was a steady boulder that was the only thing keeping her from being swept away by the tide of emotion that threatened to drown her.   It was intensely cathartic to weep; she’d been trying so hard to keep up appearances that she hadn’t allowed herself to fully process what she was feeling. 

Finally, she stepped away from the horse, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand as she hiccupped. 

“Everything is going to be fine, right?” She asked Norbert, not even caring that it was silly to ask that question of a horse. 

He huffed in response, and Hermione decided to take that as an affirmative response.  She smiled weakly and swung herself into the saddle.  With a click of her tongue, she nudged the giant warhorse into a walk. 

* * *

 

Draco had watched quietly from behind a nearby tree as Hermione had cried her heart out into Norbert’s mane. 

He’d been well on his way to his intended destination when the sound of her quiet sobbing had stopped him in his tracks; every sound echoed through the forest as clearly as a newly rung bell.  He’d found himself moving towards her before he’d fully realized what he was doing.  At the last second, Draco had secreted himself behind a tree, more than a little discombobulated by his split-second decision to turn back and investigate. 

A strange ache resonated in his chest, and he hurriedly attempted to wipe it away.  It was stubborn, pulsing underneath his skin and persisting despite his best efforts to ignore it.  He didn’t have a name to assign to the odd feeling, so he dropped his arm with a silent huff of annoyance. 

_There’s no reason that a human crying should elicit a reaction.  You’re getting soft.  A few tears is all that it takes to move you?_

_Weakness will bring only death.  I refuse to let her get under my skin.  I won’t make the same mistakes that my mother did._

He snuck another glance around the tree trunk, noting with some relief that Hermione had dried her tears.  He couldn’t begin to explain why her emotional outburst had shaken him.

Whatever the reason, he disliked it immensely. 

Draco had watched silently, not daring to breathe lest he reveal his presence, as she’d swung herself into Norbert’s saddle and coaxed the animal into a gentle walk back towards the castle.  He’d waited for a few moments after she left to head in the other direction; he needed to visit the city that lay nestled in the heart of Lucius’ lands. 

His fingers ran incessantly over the acorn that he still held as he walked.  Draco forced his mind away from Hermione and returned his attention to his task at hand. 

_Two deals.  That’s all that I’ll be able to do tonight.  It’ll have to be enough._

The magic within his body was rapidly dwindling.  He could feel it pulsing inside his chest, growing fainter by the hour.  He needed to make a deal or two, just enough to keep himself strong. 

Even with the moon charm, it took energy that he didn’t have to keep the mystery fae’s magic at bay.  Not for the first time, he cursed his lack of fae magic.  His other hand reached up to wrap around the moonlight charm and he grudgingly admitted that Hermione’s quick thinking had afforded him more time to find enough magic to keep himself alive. 

He walked quickly; his pace quickly ate up the distance between the castle grounds and the outskirts of the city of Sussex proper.  Draco strode through farmland, heading for the warm glow up ahead that promised taverns and inns. 

He reached behind his head and drew his hood up; it wouldn’t serve him in the slightest to be recognized here.  The last thing that he wanted was to be taken by force back to the castle by the Duke’s men.  Draco’s silvery eyes flashed in the moonlight as he moved through shadowy alleyways and between shops. 

The city came alive at night, it bustled with different sounds and smells than those that swam through the air during the daytime, and he took a moment to watch the coming and going of ordinary folk for a moment. 

He could smell stews cooking on hundreds of different hearths, the earthy smells of horses and wheat, and the unpleasant odor of thousands of humans crammed together in a dirty city.  The colours of the night were far livelier than during the day, as windows glittered with the light of thousands of wax candles, and silvery moonlight bathed everything that the candlelight couldn’t touch in an unearthly glow.  It was through this beautiful world of silver and gold that Draco walked, making no sound as he made his slow way through the crowds that filled the streets. 

He followed faint pulses of magic.  They fluttered around him, beckoning him in a hundred different directions at once.  At random, he followed one.  His deals always allowed him more earth magic if the person making the deal had a whiff of power to start with. 

_Magic doesn’t make any damn sense here, but it’ll have to do._

The sun had barely been down for two hours, and the humans that he’d come to find were starting to mill about, emerging from their homes and making their way towards some of the city’s more undesirable establishments.  He followed a trail of melancholic, exhausted men and dead-eyed women as they plodded along the streets. 

After half a mile, he was drawn towards a building that was glowing with red light.  The faint pulse of magic beckoned to him, like a drumbeat.  As he got closer, it grew stronger, pulsing in time with his heartbeat as he listened. 

As if by instinct, his feet steered him towards it. 

Draco stopped in his tracks, staring with anticipation at the building at the end of the row.   He abandoned the line of people who ambled past and ducked back into the shadows.   Red-glazed lanterns adorned the beautifully carved wooden door, and it boasted several red silk awnings. 

_That could be promising._

Draco’s eyes narrowed.  His gaze raked over the tall building, finally coming to rest on the sign that dangled above the front door on a chain.  It waved gently in the crisp breeze that whistled through this particular alley, creaking as it moved.  The painting embossed on the sign was simply a black rose twisting its thorns around a man. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that he was standing in the shadows opposite a brothel.  Given the opulence of its décor, Draco knew that it most likely catered to the upper class.  His mouth twisted in a sneer; he knew exactly what the patrons of this particular business liked. 

He’d already seen countless bruises and scars on the girls in other brothels, ones that were exactly like this one.  The richer the brothel, the crueler the clientele, it seemed.  His blood ran red-hot through his veins as the memories of the horrors that he’d seen flashed through his mind’s eye. 

His lip curled in disgust.  In his realm, courtesans were considered untouchable; to harm one was to risk everything.  Here, humans treated them as disposable.  He had to work carefully; otherwise the girl who was brought to him might bolt. 

He couldn’t afford to carry a fearsome reputation, not when he depended on the deals that the poor girls who were forced to work the streets were willing to make.  Draco would never harm them, and he certainly wouldn’t allow them to be driven into a worse situation because of his errors in judgement. 

After the disastrous night that had led to his imprisonment on Earth, he’d gone about making deals a little bit differently. 

_It turns out that humans don’t respond well to fear.  You simply need to find the right motivation, and they will offer up anything that you ask._

Gwaethe closed his eyes, planning out his next move.  His eyelids flicked open almost immediately, and he moved across the alleyway.  He raised one pale hand and knocked on the door.  It flew open on oiled hinges and he suddenly found himself staring into the face of a very extravagantly made up woman.   

Her cheeks were smudged with garishly applied red rouge and her face was painted with a pasty substance that was so chalklike that he assumed it was an attempt to cover up her ruddy complexion. 

“Welcome, welcome!”  She said smugly, opening the door wide and waving him inside the foyer.  He remained outside the door. 

“Are you open for business?”  Draco asked quietly, keeping his eyes out of the light of the lantern.  He wasn’t interested in explaining why his irises appeared as a flash of silver in direct light. 

“My Lord, you’ve arrived at the perfect time.  All of my girls are available for your pleasure.  Or if you would prefer a different companion, we do cater to _all_ tastes,” she purred, raking her greedy gaze down the fine weaving of his cloak and the expensive make of his boots.

He drew his hood back, relishing her tiny gasp of surprise as his silvery hair nearly glowed in the red light flickering from the lanterns around the doorway. 

“I’ll take any courtesan you see fit to send me,” he said curtly, stepping over the threshold and fixing her with a steely glare.  “I require the use of your most private room.  Should I be disturbed, your business will not last another fortnight.  That includes the spy holes that are peppered across every wall of this brothel.  Am I understood?”

The Madam nodded quickly, wrenching her mouth shut from when it had fallen open. 

“Just one lady tonight?”  She simpered, gesturing at the array of portraits that hung in the entryway.  Draco assumed that it was a gallery for patrons to choose from.  He didn’t allow his expression to soften; the chances of him succeeding in making a deal with two courtesans at once weren’t good.   

He decided not to risk it.  Draco pored over the portraits for a moment, before pointing to one that depicted a girl with auburn hair and hazel eyes.  He wasn’t interested in the look of her, only the pulse of magic that beckoned to him from her image. 

_She’ll work._

“Yes.  If you send another, despite my request, I won’t be pleased,” he said shortly, turning his back on her.  She wisely shut her mouth, and he heard the rustling of silk skirts as she performed a very deep curtsy. 

“As you wish, my Lord.  Please follow the gentleman in the blue tunic to your room.”

As Draco turned on his heel to follow the elegantly dressed butler, he savoured the flicker of triumph that her reaction had elicited. 

He wasn’t used to flaunting Draco’s nobility; he’d always been dormant when it would have been most useful.  He didn’t relish the thought of pretending to be human, much less an arrogant git, but he was more than willing to play a part to achieve what he wanted. 

Acting wasn’t lying after all; he was simply borrowing someone else’s personality.  Gwaethe stubbornly ignored the tiny, very irritating part of him that insisted that what he was doing was wrong.  To his very great annoyance, his conscience sounded suspiciously like a certain curly-haired human. 

_Damn her.  She’s managed to weasel into my business at every turn.  If only she wasn’t so determined to make amends.  It would be so much easier to keep her out of my head if she were still the child who trapped me in the forest._

Distantly, he could hear the rumble of conversation and raucous laughter coming from below the staircase.  Without conscious thought, he raised his hood again. 

He rapidly smoothed his expression as he was shown to a grand bedroom at the very top of the building.  The floor stretched along the length of the brothel, and he could see that every inch of it was plastered with silk and ornate carpets.  A giant, four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, and he eyed it with distaste. 

There was a table in the corner, lavishly laden with wine and food as well, and he quickly made a beeline for it. 

His stomach grumbled furiously, and he didn’t bother with politeness.  He was in a whorehouse after all.  Draco quickly poured himself a glass of wine and snagged an apple.   His flinty gaze shot from one corner to the next, taking in every detail of the room. 

“Will there be anything else for the moment, my Lord?”  The weasel-like, balding man who had led the way asked the question timidly, clearly fearful of the wrath of an offended nobleman as he bowed deeply.  

He ignored the butler.

It would have cost a fortune to outfit the room, but even the liberally applied perfume didn’t disguise the scents of sweat and blood.  The whole place echoed with screams and sorrow.  Simply touching the wood of the window ledge afforded him a small taste of the pain that this miserable place had seen. 

The worst thing about being a fae stuck in a human body was that he couldn’t block out any of the magic that pulsed around him.  The wood of the foundations, the stones that built the walls and even the dirt that blanketed the floor held memories of those who had encountered them; it was all of the earth.  

They whispered, they sung, and they wept. 

Draco couldn’t use his magic to filter out any of it. 

That was the most difficult part about this realm.  Earth magic was loud.  The Seelie realm was quiet, and orderly; nothing like this strange world where everything followed the same rules. 

He clenched his jaw in disgust and leaned against the window frame to wait.  The valet closed the door behind him with a soft click, and Draco sighed. 

The flickering magic inside of him had dimmed even further, and it had begun to gutter like a candle flame drowning in its own wax.  Distantly, he was aware that it was getting a little bit harder to breathe, and exhaustion draped its cold hands over his mind. 

He descended into his thoughts, trying in vain to silence Hermione’s voice inside his head.  Her apology played over and over again on a loop, and he had to throw more effort than he wanted to towards her voice to remain angry with her.  He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing his mind to focus on anything else as the door opened once more. 

Draco glanced up; taking in the sight of the courtesan as she smoothly entered the room.  There was nothing about her that bespoke nervousness, and she carried herself with the poise and confidence of a queen. 

Her hazel eyes shone in the candlelight, and her hair reflected the warm glow of the flames, turning it into a molten wave of copper. 

He raised one eyebrow as he appraised her; quite frankly, he was more impressed by the magic that pulsed through her veins than he was by her beautiful appearance. 

She curtsied with ease and regarded him with blatant curiosity written all over her features.  “Good evening,” she breathed, moving closer to him until she stood barely two feet away.  “How may I serve you this evening, my lord-“

Her small hands had reached up to pull at the ties on her bodice, but she froze as he made a small sound of exasperation. 

“There won’t be any of that,” Draco interrupted her, not unkindly.  He settled back into the window nook and fixed his gaze on her.  Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the unusual cast of his eyes and hair, but she stood her ground. 

“My lord..?”

“I’m not here to purchase anything from you,” he clarified, fighting against the fog of exhaustion that threatened to seep into his thoughts.  “I have another proposition for you.  You won’t be stuck here any longer if you accept it.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “I’ll not move to another house, sir.  You would have me placed in danger.  The Madam-“

“No, that’s not it,” Draco said impatiently, reaching into the hidden pocket that he’d had sewn into his cloak and pulled out a long, flat box.  “I’m offering you your freedom.”

“I don’t u-understand,” she stammered, moving a step away.  “I’m not a slave.”

“No, but you suffer here.  Is that very much different?”  He asked simply, watching her quietly as her face flushed and she looked away.  Draco didn’t miss the way that her hand unconsciously strayed to the small of her back.  She was injured there, of that he was certain.

“I’ll give you all of that gold in the box,” he said quietly, gesturing at the box with one hand.  “You can open it if you want.  All that I ask for in return is a small thing that belongs only to you.”

Her eyes widened.  “You’re of the Fair Folk, aren’t you?”

He smirked.  Magic rolled off of her skin in waves; it was no wonder she was able to recognize what he was. 

“You’ve got a changeling in your bloodline somewhere; it’s what drew me here.  I’m not going to take anything vital; the terms of the agreement aren’t going to harm you.  I won’t ask you your name, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Why did you come here?”  She asked quietly, surveying him with her haunted eyes.  He could tell by looking at her that she’d seen and done terrible things in order to survive.  He knew that any small token of hers would carry enough magic to keep him alive. 

“I’m dying,” he said simply, crossing his arms.  “You have enough magic to tide me over until I can escape this realm.”

“And if I refuse?”  She said shakily, watching him with her ancient eyes. 

Draco smothered a flash of pity. 

“I can find another deal, but I have a feeling that you’re desperate to leave this place.”

The way that her gaze was constantly drawn to the box of gold confirmed his suspicions. 

“I’ll take it,” she said breathlessly, licking her lips.  “What do you want in return?”

“I’ll take a lock of your hair,” he replied, pulling a tiny knife out of his pocket.  At the flash of a blade, she shied away, but slowly reached out and took it as he offered it to her.  Her shaking hand wrapped around the handle, and she gently drew it out of his palm. 

He hissed in pain as the blade dragged along the center of his hand, and she let out a tiny shriek as a droplet of silver blood fell onto the silk carpet beneath their feet. 

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.  _Humans always make everything a spectacle._

“It can’t harm you, don’t be stupid-” he began, allowing irritation to bleed into his tone.  He gentled immediately as her pupils dilated and she took in a sharp breath. 

He ran a hand over his hair and sighed.  “Forgive me.  The lack of magic is painful.  I’m prone to lapses in civility.”

With shaking hands, the courtesan reached into her elaborately curled hair and selected a ringlet.  Gwaethe eyed it hungrily as she cut it. The quiet “snick” of the blade slicing through the strands was music to his ears.

“How does this work?”  She whispered softly, clearly petrified that he was going to cheat her and harm her in some way.  Not for the first time, he wondered what had forced her into the life of a whore.  Now that she had a shred of hope, she had opened herself up to disappointment. 

He knew exactly what that felt like. 

He palmed the box of gold and held it out for her, offering his other hand for the blade and the severed curl.  “We trade our gifts at the same time.  I’ll burn your hair and release the magic, and you’ll have your gold.”

She nodded, holding out her part of the bargain as he settled the weight of the box in her palm. 

“Good.  Don’t be wary, I’m going to seal the promise,” Draco said softly, moving slowly and carefully so as not to frighten her.  He couldn’t afford to scare her off now; the magic was so close that he could taste it, and the guttering flame of power inside him threatened to extinguish at any moment. 

" _So'el carð e'elmeɫ jaema_ ," he murmured. " _Gwaeð, undaið, ðes'ka, ðunj'a'a, saet'nae'.  Waisn’a unset’lo ma’e so’eð."_  

_I swear it by the sun and the moon's light, by the earth and the flame; I forge my promise from starlight and bitter iron.  Your freedom is given in exchange for a token._

A familiar, soothing rush of magic rolled off of his tongue as he spoke, whipping up a tiny breeze around them.  The girl gasped, and he grinned, relishing the way that his eyes lit up in response to the magic, and his skin glowed as if he had been painted with diamond dust. 

“Go,” he urged her, clenching his fist around her gift.  “You won’t have much time until they realize that you’ve left.”

“Thank you,” she replied breathlessly, laughing softly with unrestrained joy as she darted from the room, her hair flying out behind her.  As soon as the door had clicked shut behind her, Draco strode over to a large pillar candle on the refreshment table and tossed the still-curled hair into its flame. 

The second that the fire began to consume the token, he sucked in a deep, pain-free breath.  He brushed his fingers through the smoke that trailed up from the candle; it glowed with a shimmering blue light. 

A trickle of earth magic wound through his veins, renewing him as he absorbed the swirling cloud of smoke. 

The well of power within him grew until it was no longer in danger of snuffing out.  He let out a slow, relieved sigh and braced his forearms against the wood of the table.  He could see the still-glowing reflection of his silver eyes reflected in the polish, and he took a moment to bask in his relief. 

It had been a narrow miss.

Without wasting any more time, he drew a small bag of silver coins from his pocket and tossed it on the bed.  He didn’t bother to waste any more time; he wanted to be far away from here when the madam realized that he’d driven away one of her girls. 

Draco drew his hood back up over his bright hair and took the steps back down to the main floor.  He completely ignored anyone who addressed him and strode out the front door without a backwards glance. 

He had one more deal to make tonight. 

* * *

 

Hermione’s eyes flew open as a rush of magic flooded through her body.  She lay there, gasping for breath as the magic twisted through every inch of her skin.  Tiny, glowing tendrils of what appeared to be smoke rose from her chest, and she hurriedly sat up, trying not to panic as the warmth of the magic slowly faded. 

She sat there for some time, trying desperately to keep herself calm as her body temperature lowered once more and her heart rate returned to normal. 

“What in the bloody hell was that?”  Hermione whispered, hoping with every fibre of her being that she wasn’t in danger. 

After enough time had passed that she felt that she could relax, she laid back down on her pallet and tried to summon sleep once again.  It didn’t work, and she tossed and turned until she finally fell into a shallow, vivid dream-laden sleep. 

* * *

 

“My dearest Hermione-” Ron started, clicking his tongue between his teeth as he wrote.  He stared at the words on the parchment before hurriedly crossing them out and starting anew. 

“Hermione- no that’s just too simple,” he mumbled, running his ink-stained hands through his hair in frustration as he stared at the intimidatingly blank square of parchment in front of him. 

“My oldest friend-drat, no.  That’s not it either.”

The candles that he’d placed on the counter in Hermione’s father’s workshop slowly burnt themselves out as he struggled to find the right words to write.

“Sod it,” he muttered, dipping his quill back into the ink and scrawling furiously across the page. 

_Hermione,_

_I hope you’re doing well (but not too well, otherwise I’ll have no choice but to be jealous).  Everyone here is doing fine, although the glue that held all of us together was obviously you.  I haven’t seen Neville or Seamus in nearly two months.  Ginny’s been helping me out around the workshop, which suits us just fine.  Your father is chipper, as always, but your mother isn’t keen on speaking of you.  Apparently your father didn’t tell her that he’d applied to Doctor Slughorn for your apprenticeship.  Between you and me, I believe every word of that._

He sighed and plowed onwards. 

_I could talk all day about how boring life is around here without you, and I dunno if that would even begin to cover it.  I can’t believe that I’m saying this (and don’t take it the wrong way), but I can’t help wishing that you’d never left.  It’s not that things are bad here, because they aren’t, but there’s something missing that I was never brave enough to put into words before you left._

_I miss you, terribly.  It’s like you left a giant hole in your wake.  I always assumed that we’d end up together, and although it was all in my head, I wish I’d had the guts to say something to you.  I suppose that’s just another thing that makes us different.  I’m not nearly as brave or clever as you are._

_I suppose it might be for the best, you would have figured out very quickly that I’m not the kind of man that you should be with-_

Before he could finish what he was going to say, adrenaline spiked through his belly and he panicked. 

“Ron, you git, don’t write that-shit!”

He hurriedly crossed out the last paragraph and deliberately spilled ink along it.  Once the words were too heavily obscured to be read, he continued to write.  His hands trembled, and his already spidery writing grew less and less legible.

_Anyways, Ginny would like you to know that she’s no longer out walking with Cedric Diggory, and I want you to know that I’m thrilled about it.  He was far too good looking for her, and too boring, apparently.  I suppose that I should tell you that Fred is miserable as well since you’ve left.  Bill is still travelling in France, he’s not expected to be back for some time.  He’s encountered a new smithing technique that has something to do with a girl called Fleur.  You can imagine that mother is thrilled.  Father has insisted that George and Percy join Charlie in Romania, although I’m not sure that they’re interested in the ranger’s life.  Percy always throws up at the sight of blood, and George is far more interested in writing racy poetry._

_As for me-_

Ron paused, drumming his fingers against the wood of the counter as he thought. 

_As for me, I’ve finally decided to court Lavender.  You know that we spent some time together, and y’know, once you get past the incessant chatter about children and the village gossip, she’s actually quite a kind person.  Thought you might want to know._

Once again, he crossed out the last sentence. 

“Bugger,” he mumbled, dropping his head into his hands.  He ignored the ink that smeared all over his face and rubbed at his eyes.  “She’s off living a noble’s life at the court of Sussex, why would she care about what we’re up to in boring, old Ashwood?”


End file.
